


Betrayal

by Rhianne



Category: CI5: The New Professionals
Genre: Episode Tag: Choice Cuts, Gen, Gen Fic, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhianne/pseuds/Rhianne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a friendship is rocked to its foundations, can it ever truly be salvaged? Major spoilers for Choice Cuts, and passing references to all episodes before that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Betrayal

**London, England**

How dare he. How fucking dare he! God, I'm so angry I can barely see straight, but if I'm really honest with myself, (and I can't see that happening anytime soon), I'm not even sure what, or who it is that's upset me the most.

Him, my so called fucking partner, who was supposed to watch out for me and didn't, or me, for letting him get so close that he had the chance to hurt me this much.

The case is over, and at least that's one good thing, but it's hardly enough to calm me down at the moment. I'm sitting here with the finalised reports in my hand, and it's those that have made me angry again. Well, I was angry anyway, but tonight, with the concrete proof of what happened in front of me, the feelings are harder to ignore. Backup was obviously surprised when I asked to see the file. It's a right that every agent has once a case has been completed, but I'm not much on paperwork, and have never asked before. No, that's a lie. I asked once before, after Africa, because I wanted to know what had happened in the couple of days I was running a fever, the ones I've never completely been able to remember. But usually I leave the admin and reports to Sam.

Sam...

Wandering around Richmond in the middle of the night waiting for someone to try and slice me into pieces wasn't exactly the highlight of my CI5 career, but I've been through worse.

Of course, we shouldn't have been there in the first place, and the small part of me that isn't mentally screaming at Sam is taking the time to resent Malone. He sent us in there, when it was none of our business. Don't get me wrong, I'm sorry that Peter Morgan is dead, and I really do sympathise with how he died, considering I was about two steps away from joining him, but it had nothing to do with CI5. Law enforcement agents die all the time - it's part of the job that we do, and the risks were all explained when we signed on, but not all cases require the combined forces of CI5 and the FBI, regardless of whether or not the FBI are actually playing ball.

Funny, isn't it.

Normally, when one of the squad is in trouble, Malone is issuing orders to back off. 'On your own resources', and all that shit. But if it's someone he knows, someone he cares about, suddenly all bets are off, and Malone personally throws the first rule out the window.

In fact, this entire fucking waste of time case is a perfect example of Malone's superior, hypocritical nature. When something happened to Morgan, Malone jumped in with both feet, in spite of the sad fact that there was actually nothing more that could be done for him. Yes, we went to catch his killers, and did so, but that didn't bring him back, did it? And when something happens to me? Hell, I'm not a family friend, I'm just an employee, and suddenly the first rule is back in force, and I'm left on my own.

I take a deep breath and stop pacing around my apartment, dropping down onto the sofa instead.

Okay, I know that's not exactly fair. Malone has a department to run, after all. And 'on your own resources' is a CI5 maxim that's drummed into all of us right from the start, so even when I woke up in the car boot, I knew that Malone wouldn't be sending the cavalry in to give me a hand. But there's just enough truth in what I'm thinking that today, I don't feel wrong in being angry with him.

What a goddamned mess.

The stupid thing is, regardless of how angry I feel, there's a part of me that's feeling guilty as well. Sam was only following orders, and as much as it hurts, I know there wasn't much he could have done to find me. Richmond itself is too big for one man to conduct a comprehensive search, and considering the trek back to town I had the next morning, those bastards had me miles outside of town pretty quickly after they grabbed me. It's just...

...I don't know.

I guess it's just started me thinking. Sam's probably the single best agent CI5 has, and even though we both have our skills, I still feel that sometimes, I hold him back, that he'd do just as well, maybe better, if Malone sent him out into the field alone.

As an agent, Sam was perfectly correct in not haring round Richmond looking for me. But we're friends, at least I thought we were, and now I can't help wondering whether our friendship means a hell of a lot more to me than it does Sam. After all, if the positions had been reversed, I would have done everything I could to find him...

...Wouldn't I?

Yes, I know I would. Without a doubt. Even the idea of losing Sam sends shivers down my spine. The thought that I could have visited the morgue and seen Sam on a gurney just like Agent Morgan, his body mutilated...

It seems that Sam never had the same worries about me.

But that's okay. I can deal with this. I went through three years as a Navy Seal without a friend as close as Sam is...I mean was, and I did okay. It's just going to take a little time, that's all. Get used to relying on me, and me alone. Stop assuming that Sam's always going to be there watching my back the way I watch his. I honestly thought that time would help me adjust to this, but I'm getting more and more angry as time passes.

I've started the transition already, but it's difficult. Stopped joining in with the office banter, turning down invitations to go for a drink, that kind of thing. I need to back off completely for a while to get used to being alone again. Only then, when I've redrawn the boundaries can I start spending time with him again, just as work colleagues. The CI5 grapevine is working well, as usual, and people are already talking. Sam's noticed the difference. He always was too observant. Keeps asking me if everything's alright, but I just keep brushing him off. 'Fine' is such a useful word.

After all, what the hell else am I supposed to do? I don't have too long to get things sorted, though. Malone went away for a few days to spend time with Agent Morgan's mother, leaving the running of CI5 in our capable hands. And while people are talking about it, no-one yet has plucked up the courage to ask me personally except Sam, who has asked so often that I think he's given up by now. But I know Malone won't have any compunction in calling the two of us into his office and demanding explanations if the icy atmosphere between us is still this obvious when he returns. And he's due back in a couple of days at the most.

I can do this.

I have to.

~*~ *~

 **Richmond, Virginia.  
Ten Days Earlier.**

The shooting has stopped, and the case is over, at least for now. I'm not naïve enough to hope that this is the last I'd hear of it though, since once we make it back to the UK, we'll all be writing reports about what has happened till we are sick of them.

But for now I simply don't care, and as the FBI cart Shepherd and Hall away I let myself slump back against the car. I'm so tired, and it's getting harder to keep my eyes open as the adrenaline of the past few hours begins to wear off.

I've been operating on automatic ever since Sam's call to Malone went dead, and have pushed my various aches and pains to the back of my mind in the frantic rush to make sure he and Backup are okay. Of course, considering it's Malone we're talking about, I suppose I shouldn't have worried. I'd even got behind the wheel when we drove over to the clinic, heading for the driver's side without thinking. Sam had thrown me one concerned look as I started the ignition, but said nothing, trusting me to know my own limitations I guess. And once I was driving I was responsible for Sam's welfare as well as my own, so I carried on going, regardless of how uncomfortable it was.

I don't have to worry about that now, and as Sam opens the door for Malone I close my eyes and just let them get on with things. It's only when a car engine starts up that I open my eyes again, to find Backup pulling away in the Rolls Royce with Malone in the passenger seat, and Sam watching me from the other side of our rental. There's obvious concern on his face, which of course, is automatically schooled into friendly indifference as soon as he realises that I'm watching him.

"You going to stand there all day, Keel?" he asks. "Or can we get out of here?"

Sighing at the thought of driving back to wherever we were going, I nevertheless reach into my pocket for the keys. Which aren't there. Frowning, I check my pockets again without success, until I suddenly notice Sam jangling the car keys from his fingers, grinning.

"I'm driving. Get in."

Grinning back, I slide stiffly into the passenger seat and shut the door. I can't get the concern I saw on Sam's face out of my mind, though, so I start up a conversation, hoping to distract him away from my recent adventures. Can't for the life of me remember what I ask him, something about his latest girlfriend I think, but it gets him talking anyway.

I try to focus on what he is saying, I really do, but I just can't seem to keep my eyes open, and I feel my head drop forward a couple of times before I give in and let myself doze off.

Next thing I know the car has stopped, and someone opens my door. I wake with a start and glance up to find Sam staring down at me. It takes a couple of seconds before I work out where we are, but I'm surprised all the same. I'm not actually sure where I thought we were going, but the motel definitely wasn't on the list.

Sam stands back to let me get out of the car, which I do, just about managing to hide the wince as I straighten up. As I step up onto the sidewalk I see a well-dressed, sharp-featured blonde walk past the car, looking down at my clothes as if I'd just crawled out from under a rock. Which I suppose, given where I spent the night, I actually do. I don't think I could look any worse. The clothes, which hadn't exactly been Hugo Boss before this all started, are torn and streaked with mud. I have dirt in my hair and what little of my skin I can see is filthy. I suppose I shouldn't be annoyed at her, I mean I hate the way I look, so why shouldn't she? But I glare at her anyway as I shut the car door, and have to bite back an angry remark.

I rub a hand across my eyes, trying to wake myself up a bit. "What are we doing here? Where're the others?"

Sam fishes in his coat for the keys to our motel room as he walks to the door, and I follow him, still waiting for an answer.

"They've gone back to the warehouse to see if they can salvage any of our equipment."

I snort. From the damage we'd seen the acid do, it wasn't likely.

"Even if not, Malone wants to make sure there's nothing confidential there that might end up in the wrong hands."

"Paranoia." I mumble.

Sam unlocks our door and pushes it open, holding the door open for me to step through. "Maybe so, but it should give us an hour or so."

"For what?"

"Well I'm going to head off to the bar, sample some of the local wine. And you? Well, that's your choice, mate, but I'd recommend a shower and change of clothes at least. I don't think Malone's going to want to sit on a plane with you in that state. We're going to have to fumigate the car as it is."

I search for a suitable retort, but can't quite come up with anything. I must be more tired than I thought. Happy to have got the last word, Sam throws the keys down on one of the beds and heads back for the door.

"I'll be in the bar."

Mmm...a nice cold Bud sounds good, but even that's going to have to wait until I'm clean. Though the way I feel right now that may take a while. I've only been dressed like this twenty-four hours, but some of this dirt feels like it's ingrained.

I lock the door behind Sam and head for the bathroom, shrugging my coat off of my shoulders without breaking stride. The rest of my clothes also land on the floor in a line between front door and bathroom, and the room is messy again, in spite of Sam's and my suitcases in a neat line behind the front door.

The only thing I take any time doing is removing the St. Christopher from around my neck. I can't quite be bothered to untie the knot, but the ragged piece of string that the pendant hangs from is hardly a family heirloom and I cut it from my neck before carefully placing it on the sideboard. Teresa gave me the pendant the day that I joined the SEALs. Apparently St. Christopher was the Patron Saint of travellers, and she told me that it would help keep me safe while I was off saving the world. I've worn it almost every day since, and considering some of the fuck-ups my missions have turned into (up to and including last night's fiasco) I can only say that it's working. So I wear it whenever I can, and trust in St. Christopher, and Teresa, to keep me safe when I can't do it myself.

The bathroom is filthy even before I get into it, and I'd already discovered the pathetic trickle of water that passes for a shower in this place. It's not exactly a five-star hotel as Sam took great delight in complaining about when we arrived, but as of this moment I officially don't care - and I've never seen a more inviting shower.

I climb gratefully under the spray and start washing the dirt - and the case - down the drain. One pleasant surprise though, once my skin is clean enough to be visible, is that I don't seem to have as many bruises as I thought I did. A red puncture mark on my back that I can just about see in the mirror, a few bruises across my face and chest from the fight and grazes on my arms where I dragged myself through the bushes, but it could have been an awful lot worse.

The tension I'd been carrying around since going undercover finally slips away, following the shampoo down the cracked plug-hole. I stay under the shower for as long as I can, immersing myself in the warmth and feeling of being clean again.

I survived, and we caught the bad guys. Everything else I can deal with later.

Finally the water starts running cold and I step out of the cubicle and reach for a towel. One blessing of having hair as short as mine is that it dries quickly, and a minute or two of towel drying is enough to stop the drops of water from snaking down my back.

I wrap the towel round my waist and move towards my clothes, but all intention of meeting Sam in the bar disappears the second I lay eyes on the bed. I'm just as exhausted as I was at the clinic, but if anything the warmth of the water has made me even more sleepy. Before I have time to register the movement I'm crawling under the covers, gratefully sinking into the mattress beneath my body.

I'm asleep within seconds.

The creaking of floorboards, a door easing shut, and I'm instantly awake.

"Shh, he's asleep."

Correction - I'm trying to sleep.

Being aware of my surroundings even when asleep is a mixed blessing, sometimes. It has saved my life on more than one occasion, but since I recognise Sam's voice straight away I make no effort to get up. Instead, I settle for muttering something even I can't make out and rolling onto my side.

Curling up in bed had seemed like a good idea at the time, but in fact all it had done was make me even more tired. I needed to sleep for hours before I could begin to feel human again, but it had probably only been forty minutes or so since I'd stepped out of the shower.

I debate whether or not to try and get back to sleep, but the whispering coming from the corner of the room is distracting. It's worth a try, though. Maybe if they think I'm still asleep they'll go away.

Unfortunately, that particular delusion doesn't last very long. I'm just starting to doze off again when the footsteps start, and a hand gently shakes my shoulder in an attempt to wake me up.

Pain shoots down my arm as muscles protest at the movement, and I twist away from the hand with a yelp. Turning on to my back, I stare blearily up at the owner of the hand.

"What do you want, Curtis?"

"Sorry Chris, but we've got to get moving if we're going to catch the next flight home."

Backup is standing over by the door, watching me with a slightly amused smile. When my glare turns in her direction she grins.

"I'll wait in the bar with Malone." With that she leaves, and Sam picks the kettle up from the table.

"I'll make you a coffee. Get dressed." He disappears off into the bathroom to fill the kettle, and I climb wearily out of bed and reach for my suitcase.

Since Sam had packed the suitcase, (though quite when he found the time in the chaos of the past few hours I have no idea) everything was neatly folded, but two seconds of foraging around hunting for a pair of jeans and it looks like I'd packed it. I don't know why, but I must admit I find that a little more reassuring.

Still, a pair of black jeans and T-shirt later and I feel almost human. Back in my own clothes I'm me again - not Chris Keel, homeless guy, or Chris Keel, undercover agent, just...Chris.

I'd only been undercover for a day, but it had been one hell of a day, and being me again...feels good.

I'm just pulling my shirt over my head when Sam comes back into the room. I can see him looking at the bruising across my chest, which was darkening nicely, and for a fleeting second see something in his eyes.

Guilt?

As per usual my partner is blaming himself for other people's faults and mistakes, but I know him well enough to know that it's just par for the course. Sam isn't one for deeply analysing feelings, and has a tendency to get very defensive if you try and draw him out on things that he hasn't decided he's ready to talk about. People talk about him being ice-cold, and having no feelings? Well that's bullshit, he just doesn't like to share them. A control-freak would be a better description of Sam. Still, most of the time he prefers to get through things on his own, so unless we're talking serious guilt, I don't push him. So I say nothing, and his face is quickly schooled back into his usual expression of cautious neutrality. It's one I know well.

I shave as he finishes making the coffee, which he holds out to me as I sink back down on the bed. I latch on to the coffee mug a little too eagerly, hell, I practically snatch it out of his hand. Lying unconscious in a forest all night has left me feeling cold to the bone in spite of the fact that it's a hot day, and I'm hoping that the drink will do more than just keep me awake long enough to get to the plane.

It's not long before Malone is rapping sharply on the door, his patience apparently at an end. I can't say I blame him. I don't want to stay in this town any longer than I absolutely have to, and I'd have left the instant we arrested the two doctors if I hadn't been too tired to argue with the others.

I drain the last of my coffee, grimacing at the last mouthful, which is much more sugary than the rest of the cup. Sam rolls his eyes as I quickly stuff the rest of my clothes haphazardly into the suitcase, and I grin back, following the last of the procession back to the car.

Backup's driving, as usual. Malone has said on more than one occasion that he prefers her driving him around to either of us, and always follows that comment up with a snide remark about our driving skills. I prefer to think of my driving as skilful rather than 'reckless', though, and at least I haven't managed to total any of CI5's cars yet. Sam, on the other hand, has managed to wreck three, I think, which I take great delight in reminding him every so often.

It's not a huge surprise to any of us, but I doze off pretty quickly in the back of the car, folding my arms and leaning into the corner of the passenger door. It's not a comfortable place to sleep though, and I never really manage anything more than catnapping. I'm too exhausted to stay awake completely, and yet too skittish to just let myself fall into a deep sleep. The motion of the car is reminding me a little too much of those minutes locked in the trunk last night, and I can feel myself tensing up, not yet able to relegate the events of the past few days into memory alone.

So I settle for just resting my eyes, trying to relax, and half listening to the muted conversation from my colleagues.

He's watching me from across the seat, whenever he thinks I'm not looking, or I won't notice. But this is more than just the usual concern he shows when I've done something stupid and gotten us all into trouble. Something's bothering Sam, and I don't have a clue what it is. Did something happen to him while I was off swimming with the sharks? About the only thing I do know is that I don't have a hope in hell of finding out what it is until Sam decides it's time to tell me.

But I can't shake the feeling that whatever it is - it's not good. I'm a great believer in trusting my instincts, and right now they're screaming at me, which is especially unusual at the end of a case. Whatever this is, it's important. And dangerous.

We finally get on the plane, and get economy seats of course - never for a minute did I think that Malone might spring for anything more. The seats aren't exactly as comfortable as being at home in bed, but with the prospect of a ten-hour flight comes the chance of a ten-hour sleep, and that makes the journey just about perfect. Soon after take-off the stewardess comes round with the duty free drinks, and I accept a beer gratefully, daring Malone to say anything. Technically, (if you go by the roster) Sam and I are still on duty. Well, should someone decide to hijack the plane I will be more than happy to voice my 'objections'.

Until then? I'm having a drink.

The unease I've been feeling since we left the motel is slowly dissipating, and the further we get away from Richmond, the better I feel. Finishing my drink, I wriggle around in my seat to make sure I'm comfortable, and then lean forward to hear what Backup is saying.

"...responsible for his father's death."

I seem to have come in at the wrong end of this conversation, and I tap her on the shoulder. "Huh?"

She smiles at me. "I never did get round to explaining to Sam why Malone and I turned up in Richmond," she said. Malone had gone off to the toilet or something, and so Backup was taking the opportunity to do a little gossiping. "Apparently Malone served with Peter Morgan's father, and was with him when he died. He's got a little protective over the family since."

"Not likely. In order to feel protective, he'd have to have actual human feelings."

"You're too hard on him," Backup admonishes. "Do you know, he actually apologised to me the other day?"

"You're kidding."

She shakes her head.

"Nope, I still don't believe it. I mean, look at what he ordered us to do last night..."

Sam suddenly trails off without finishing his sentence. The look on his face is one that usually warns me of danger, but I haven't noticed anything wrong.

"What?"

Sam hesitates, casting a nervous glance at me. I'm intrigued, and something is telling me that this is important, somehow.

"Sam?"

There's silence for a few seconds before Tina sighs, and speaks.

"When we realised you were missing, Chris, Malone ordered us not to search for you. He told us to just go back to the hotel and get some rest."

"Yeah, but..." Sam starts.

A loud cough from Tina stops me in mid sentence, and I glance round to see Malone striding back up the aisle. I go quiet, but file the information away for further reference. I'm still missing something, I know that, but I just can't work out what it is, what is so important.

With Malone back I stand up to let him back in his seat, then decide that while I'm up I might as well follow his example and go myself. That way I can sleep uninterrupted once I get back. As I turn to walk down the aisle, Sam yawns.

"God, I'm tired."

"At least you got some rest last night, Mr. Curtis." Malone begins. "Just think how tired you'd have been now if you hadn't taken my advice."

For a second I don't connect what I've heard and carry on walking. Then, suddenly, it hits me, and I falter and glance back to the others.

At Malone's words Backup had closed her eyes and sighed quietly, and Sam casts one panicked look in my direction before glancing away guiltily.

Rest?

Malone had ordered them not to search for me...

And...

...Sam had obeyed.

I force myself to keep walking, and head down the aisle as if nothing had happened. Making it to the small toilet, I shut myself in and leant on the metal sink, staring off into space as I try to make sense of what I've heard.

The thought that Malone had tried to stop them from searching for me irks, but I can't say I'm particularly surprised. He's done it before, when Sam and I crashed the plane in Africa, and it won't surprise me if he does it again sometime soon.

But I also know that when Malone ordered CI5 to do nothing the last time, Tina refused and kept searching, kept trying to find us. In fact, we've been told that she didn't leave headquarters for almost three days until we made it back to Cape Town.

I expect Malone to leave us to our own devices, but...Sam? He's supposed to be my partner. We're supposed to look out for each other, and the idea that Sam went chastely to bed without a thought while I was fighting for my life - melodramatic, I know, but basically true - stuns me.

I stand staring into the mirror while I absorb this, and above anything else that I'm feeling is a strong sense of betrayal. Sam isn't the easiest person to read, but I never thought that Sam would do something like that.

I can't help wondering what else I've misjudged about the Englishman. Our friendship, perhaps?

Oh, hell.

I need time. Time to figure this out, and work out what it means, and what to do next.

But with Sam sitting in the seat in front of me, that's one thing that I don't have.

Except...

I don't think Sam noticed me turn round in the aisle, so he might think that I hadn't heard what Malone had said. Hell, even if he did, he might not even care.

If I can act like nothing's wrong, even if just until we get back to London, then maybe it'll give me the time to get this sorted. I splash some water onto my face, noting with anger that my hand is shaking as it reaches out to switch off the tap.

A deep breath, and then I head back towards my seat.

They all glance up as I approach, and I manage to plaster a smile on my face. Is it my imagination, or does Sam look relieved? Easing myself carefully back into my seat, (the shower back in Richmond helped, but I'm still sore), I put my seatbelt back on and close my eyes, looking for all the world like I'm settling down to get some sleep. My eyes stay closed throughout the rest of the flight, but I don't sleep at all.

My mind is whirling, but it doesn't seem to get me anywhere.

And what's the only coherent thought I manage?

Now I know when Sam had the time to pack.

~*~ *~

As soon as we get back to headquarters, Malone calls me into his office. It's standard procedure in CI5 for any agent involved in a fight to get checked out as a precaution, but one I very rarely adhere to.

Still, Malone has to cover his back and tell us to go, so even as I shut the door behind me, I know exactly what he is going to say.

"I suppose it's a waste of time for me to order you to go and see Doctor Rawlings, Mr Keel."

I'm on the verge of agreeing with him when a thought occurs to me. About the only thing I'd managed to work out during the flight was that I needed time on my own to work this through. There's no way I'll be able to do that while I'm working with Sam, seeing him every day and having to act as if nothing had changed.

I had considered applying for leave, (it's not as if I didn't have enough owing to me), but it would be a few days before that would take effect, if I could get Malone to agree in the first place. And of course I'd face the inevitable barrage of questions from both Malone and Sam - why did I want leave? What was wrong? Both questions that I'm not even remotely prepared to answer.

But if I can convince the doctors that I'm medically unfit for duty, even just for a day or two, then maybe that will give me the time I need to get my defences up a little. Just enough to let me work with Sam without revealing just how much he's hurt me.

But first I have to convince the doctors...and Malone. Which requires an Oscar-winning performance. No problem. I've had enough concussions in my career that I can recognise the symptoms blindfolded. Faking one shouldn't be a problem.

"Actually, that's probably not a bad idea, sir."

I can that tell Malone's surprised by his lack of response. Usually he has an answer for everything you can throw at him. This time, he's so surprised that I'm agreeing to visit the doctor that I'm able to escape any more questions. I walk out of his office, making sure my walk is ever so slightly unsteady. Not too much, I don't want to overdo it - just enough to be noticeable. As an added touch, I hold on to the edges of a few desks and chairs as I walk past, to make it blatantly obvious that something isn't quite right.

Unfortunately, I think I've acted my part a little too well, and as I walk out into the corridor, Sam stops his conversation with Backup and follows me.

"Where are you going, Chris?"

I bite back an impulse to tell Sam to get lost, and somehow manage the wry grin I know he'll be expecting.

"Malone's sending me to the doc."

The concern that I see on his face makes me want to throw up. Or hit him. Since I can't do either, I say nothing and keep walking.

"Why?"

"You know why. It's standard procedure."

"I know that, Chris. But you always refuse. Normally you have to be dragged down here."

"Things change, Sam." I can't keep the bitterness from my voice, and I can see him frown ever so slightly. Obviously he has no idea what I should be bitter about, and it's thrown him. So an awkward silence descends, and we reach the medical bay without saying another word.

The doctor comes out of his little office as we walk in, and is obviously in a good mood, if his exaggerated sigh when he sees us is anything to go by.

"Mr Curtis! Mr Keel! I have to say I'm impressed. You've managed, what, two weeks without having to come and visit me?"

"Funny, doc."

I ease myself up onto the bed, looking for all the world like someone in pain. Which, to be honest, I am. Just not quite as much as I'm making out.

"Well, I don't need to ask who the patient is this time then." Doctor Rawlings mutters. "What have you been doing to yourself this time then, Chris?"

I give him the edited version, while Sam leans against the wall, arms folded. I want him out of the room, but CI5 doesn't insist on confidentiality between partners, and there is no way I can do that without raising a fuss. So I lay on the bed and try to forget he's there.

When I reach the part about the fight and the drugs, Rawlings becomes brusquely professional.

"Any dizziness? Nausea?"

"Yeah, both. But I got hit in the head, so I think they're from that."

"Another concussion?"

"Probably." Rawlings is a great believer in listening to people's own opinions about what's wrong. Considering most of the CI5 agents have had more bruises and concussions than is quite healthy, we're all well aware of the symptoms, and usually know what's wrong with us before we stagger in here, even if we don't like admitting it. I feel quite guilty in messing him about like this, but can't think of any other way.

He does the usual things, shining lights in my eyes, and examining the various bruises, as well as the puncture mark. Once he finishes he starts making a few notes and rummaging in cabinets, and I sway slightly as I sit up to put my shirt back on.

Sam takes a step towards me, and I can't help it - I flinch. He obviously notices, because he hesitates and steps back against the wall instead.

Oblivious to all of this, Rawlings returns with a small plastic bottle in his hand, which he passes to me.

"You really should get your concussion checked out in a hospital, Mr. Keel. But I'm sure you'll refuse that, yes?"

I nod. I need to get out of CI5 for a few days, but not if I'm just going to get stuck in a hospital bed for the duration.

The doctor sighs, and reaches for his phone. He taps in Malone's internal number, and for a second I think he's going to make Malone order me to the hospital. Thankfully, he isn't feeling quite that mean.

"Malone? Doctor Rawlings. I need your permission to send 4.5 home for a few days, until we can be sure the drugs are completely out of his system."

I relax, knowing I'm home free. Asking Malone's permission is more courtesy on Rawlings' part than anything else. I know full well that he's going to sign me off work with or without Malone's authorisation. And so does Malone. There's a pause as Malone says something, and then Rawlings speaks again.

"Apart from the drugs, sir? Mild concussion, and the usual array of bruising your agents seem to collect every time they leave this building. I've said it before, Malone..."

I tune him out now, recognising Rawlings' favourite rant. Hell, we've all heard it enough times. With a twinge of amusement I can see Sam doing the same thing, throwing an amused grin in my direction. I don't manage to return it, suddenly finding myself enthralled in doing up the buttons of my black shirt.

The call ends quickly, Malone cutting in to agree with his 'request'. Anything to end the ranting. Hanging up, Rawlings grins at me.

"Works every time."

I can't help laughing. The idea of anyone managing to get the better of Malone, especially someone working for him, is novel enough to be highly entertaining. Rawlings quickly goes up in my estimation.

"Malone said you've got until Monday. Now, you're going to need someone to drive you home. I don't want you driving for the next couple of days."

Sam steps forward. "I'll do it."

"I'm quite capable of driving myself." I protest. "Jesus, I was driving everyone around all day yesterday, wasn't I?"

Rawlings' voice takes on the same tone as if he was addressing a small child. "You've got a concussion, Mr. Keel. That means blurred vision, dizziness, and you run the risk of blackouts. If you were driving yesterday, then you had no business to, and you're lucky you didn't crash. Now, give your car keys to Mr. Curtis."

I sigh. It looks like I've played this particular role a little too well. Everyone says I'm good at undercover work, but this hasn't quite gone according to plan. Rawlings is still watching me, evidently waiting for something.

"What?" I ask.

"Keys, Mr. Keel."

"Oh, for God's sake." I mutter, and dig into my pocket for my car keys. Throwing them over to Curtis, I stand up off of the bed.

"Can I go now?"

"By all means. If your headache gets too bad, take two of those. Make sure you follow the instructions."

"Okay."

"He's all yours, Mr. Curtis."

With that the doc dismisses us and heads back into his office, quite unintentionally leaving me alone with the one person I do not want to see.

We walk back through CI5, heading for the car park so that Sam can drive me straight home. Once Malone has agreed to someone being on sick leave, that does mean sick leave. Roughly translated as 'don't come back inside the building until you can be of some use.' Sam and I regularly flout this rule, wandering into Ops when we're supposed to be at home resting simply because we didn't think we needed the rest. Still, at least Malone can rest easy - that isn't going to be a problem this time. In fact, I'm walking through the corridors at such a pace Sam keeps having to jog to catch up with me.

"What's the rush?"

"Sick leave - my bed is calling."

He laughs, then sobers up as a thought occurs to him. "Why didn't you say you weren't feeling well, Chris?"

I snap back at him, harder than I mean to. "Would it have made a difference?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I take a deep breath. The last thing I need is a row with Sam. At least, not until I can get things straight in my own head.

"We were a little busy, Sam. And you'll forgive me if I'd kind of lost faith in the Richmond medical profession."

Sam laughs. "Enough to put you off doctors for life. Still, at least I know more about what happened to you last night."

"What did you think I was doing, drinking in a cocktail bar?" It could so easily have been a joke, but the bitter voice is back again, and it's painfully obvious to both of us that it isn't.

We reach the car park in silence.

I climb reluctantly into the passenger side of my own car, and stare out of the window as Sam walks round to the other side and gets in next to me.

He starts the engine and pulls smoothly out of the parking space, glancing over at me as he changes gear.

Evidently he's waiting for me to say something. Right from the start of our partnership I've always been the talkative one. I used to drive Sam nuts on stakeouts, waffling inanely about anything and everything just to hear someone's voice. Sam always seemed quite content to sit in silence, but I've never been good with awkward silences, and that's one thing I still find strange about the English.

The first time I travelled on the underground was a revelation - scores of people packed into a small carriage, and all sitting there in complete silence. I remember thinking, if this had been America, complete strangers would be striking up conversations about the latest film, or how awful last night's couple on Jerry Springer had been. Anything was better than the snobbish silence of the British - all too wrapped up in themselves to even consider passing the time of day with people.

Then I met Sam, and at first he just reaffirmed by beliefs about the repressed Brits, looking down his nose at people because, I thought at the time, he didn't consider friends something worth bothering about. So I'd chatter on and on, partly to annoy him, and partly because he unnerved me, and I wasn't prepared to let him know that.

Gradually we got to know each other better, and it became something of an in-joke between the two of us, that unless we were talking about work I would always start the conversation. It didn't matter what I said; an insult, a comment on the state of the weather, whatever. It was just one of the idiosyncrasies of our friendship.

But now I'm starting to wonder. If I really mean so little to him, then is all this just as act? Is our 'friendship' just an illusion - am I just someone he tolerates because, other than asking for another partner - he doesn't have a choice? And have I really been stupid enough to fall for his act all this time?

I sigh, and Sam glances over at me again, this time frowning.

"Are you planning on telling me what's wrong, or do we start playing twenty questions?"

I mutter something about a headache before returning my gaze back to the window. Sam tries again, and this time I can hear the concern in his voice.

"Are you feeling all right? We're not that far from the hospital Chris, I can drive you over there now if you want."

"No!" He must have heard the hint of panic in my voice, because he raises his eyebrows in surprise.

"Chris..."

"Just drop it, Sam."

I can't even hold my voice steady any more, and I'm desperate to get in to my apartment so I can get away from him.

He sounds so normal, so concerned, and if things were different I know I'd be touched at this show of friendship. But his words just sound hollow now. All I can think about is that this might all be faked, and the thought that he actually doesn't give a shit, and is just worried about my performance at work. I feel sick. How could I have been so blind?

After what seems like an eternity, we pull up outside my apartment. And here we hit a problem. I've opened the door almost before he stopped the car, and by the time he's turned the engine off I'm halfway up my garden path. I know I'm being rude, but I can't help it.

Sam gets out of the car as well, and starts following me. Short of telling him to get lost and slamming the door in his face - which I'm not yet prepared to do - there's nothing I can do to stop him.

I make it all the way to my front door before I realise. My keys. Sam has them. Just as I turn round Sam comes up behind me, dangling the keys from his fingertips with a grin.

"Did we forget something?"

But the grin isn't quite right, and when I don't grin back as expected it falters slightly, as if Sam isn't quite sure of himself. He goes to speak, but before he can do so his mobile rings and I can't quite smother the relief I feel.

"3.7"

A pause, and then: "I drove Chris home, sir."

I silently praise Malone for his perfect sense of timing, something it's safe to say I've never done before.

I can imagine the conversation. Malone is telling Sam to get back to Headquarters. Now.

"But sir..."

'Now, Mr. Curtis.' I can almost hear his voice, and as expected Sam snaps back into professional agent mode, abandoning any attempts to talk his way round his boss.

"Yes, sir," he says smartly, and for a second I almost think he's going to click his heels. He snaps his mobile shut and passes me my house keys.

"You'd better go, Sam. Don't want to keep Malone waiting."

Nodding, Sam bids me farewell, to which I say nothing, and heads back down the steps. I head inside as quickly as I can, and it's only when I've made it into my kitchen that I realise I've just stranded Sam in the street, since he drove here in my car, and I still have the keys. I move over to the window and glance outside. Sam is still there, standing by my car and staring up at me. I'm not sure whether he sees me or not, but after a minute he just turns and walks down the sidewalk away from me.

I should at least call him a cab, I know I should, but hell, he's got his mobile - he'll manage. I've got my own problems to deal with.

And he's one of them.

When I finally get myself together enough to walk away from the window, I notice that my answer machine is flashing. Two messages.

The first is Kirstie, and the thought of her manages to bring a smile to my face, if only a small one.

"Hi Chris, it's me. I thought I'd just see if you were back yet, but I guess not. Speak to you soon. Bye!"

I met her in a bar about a month ago, just after we got back from Nomine Patri. Sam was in the hospital with the doctors all fussing about infections, and I was killing time waiting for visiting hours to start.

Not that I couldn't have got in to see him anyway using my ID, but Malone had ordered me out of the hospital, so I'd gone home, showered, changed and found the nearest pub to the hospital to wait till I'd be 'allowed' back in.

Kirstie was sitting at the bar as well, and we started chatting. I was distracted, still worried about Sam, (more fool me) so I ended up telling her a little of what I do. Not so much that she would become a security risk, even I'm not that stupid, but enough so that she knew I wouldn't be leaving with her at the end of the night. Kirstie thought it was all exciting, I guess she had visions of Starsky and Hutch or something, or all the rubbish you see on the television.

Believe me, it's nothing like in the movies.

I didn't stay long, heading off to see Sam as soon as I could, but she seemed nice, and we ended up swapping phone numbers at least. Since then we've met up a couple of times, going to see a film and a meal, that sort of thing. Of course, when the trip to Richmond came up, I had to cancel on her, which is how she knew I was away.

She took the cancellation with good grace, but that was only the first. It'll be interesting to see how long it takes before she gets sick of it. That's become something of a bitter game between the agents, if I'm honest. How many times can we keep a girlfriend before she gets sick of being stood up? Sam, of course, holds the record for that along with everything else, though I don't think he's seeing anyone at the moment. He says it's his 'natural charm', that he knows how to talk women round to forgiving him.

I wonder how much of that charm is bullshit as well.

I should probably call Kirstie and tell her I'm back in the country, but I don't. It's still early enough for her to want to do something tonight or tomorrow, and I wouldn't be much company.

I will call her, though. I just need a few days to get back on track.

I press the answer phone button again without really thinking about it, and Malone's voice comes over the speaker. For a second I think I'm being called back in to work, but not even Malone is that cruel.

Well, not today anyway.

"Mr. Keel, I appreciate that you're on sick leave, but we need the reports finished on the Richmond case as soon as possible so they can be forwarded on to the FBI ready for the trial. I shall be away for the next week, so just bring your report in when you come back to work, and Miss Backus will deal with it. Your mobile phone will be replaced once you report back for duty."

There's just the click of the phone as he hangs up, and the machine switches off by itself. Malone never was fond of small talk. I'd completely forgotten that I'd lost my mobile phone that night in Richmond, in fact, I'm not sure it even registered in the first place with everything else that's happened. At first it's just one more annoyance, a little irritant, but then it dawns on me that it's actually a good thing. If I go out then no-one will be able to reach me, and I won't be constantly on edge waiting for an emergency call back to work, or from Sam 'just to see how I am'.

The silence in the apartment is only broken when my stomach starts growling, and it dawns on me that except for food on the plane, (and that can hardly be called food now, can it?) I haven't eaten since the homeless shelter, almost two days ago.

I wander into the kitchen and start opening doors aimlessly, looking into cupboard after cupboard, but I don't really see anything. I can rarely be bothered to cook at the best of times, and today doesn't really qualify. Instead I pick up the phone and dial a number that I know off by heart.

It rings twice, and then the voice on the other end of the phone speaks.

"Domino's Pizza."

It's half an hour before the doorbell rings, and I settle down in a chair with the pizza box and flick on the stereo. Part of me knows that I'm stalling, putting off the decisions that have to be made, but I don't care.

If it's a choice between serious thought and food?

The food wins every time...

...except it doesn't, because an hour later the pizza is cold, and I've not even managed a quarter of it yet.

I'm just staring at the wall, painfully aware that I'm losing control, but seemingly unable to do anything about it.

Oh, I don't mean that I'm about to go insane and smash the place up or anything, but bit by bit I can feel everything falling apart.

God, how much of a loser does that make me sound? One small argument with a friend and I turn into a drama queen. I can almost imagine what Sam, and most of the others if I'm honest, would think about that.

After all, I'm American. Land of Jerry Springer and the drama queen. I wouldn't be doing justice to my country if I didn't overreact or go into melodramatic spasms at the slightest opportunity. Doesn't mean you have to take me seriously, does it? Just pack me off to a therapist where I can pour out my troubles for $80 an hour and we'll all be happy.

Well that's bullshit.

I may be overreacting, but it's not every day that you discover your closest friend has been taking you for a fool for months.

And he is...was...my closest friend. That's not me exaggerating. I've not trusted anyone the way I trusted Sam since Teresa. I haven't allowed myself to.

After the wedding, and the funerals that followed, I went completely off the rails. Teresa meant everything in the world to me, and losing her was the hardest thing I've ever been through.

It was months before I came out of the nightmare I went through after her death, and years before I had dealt with it completely. But even then, there was one thing I promised myself, and that was that no-one would ever be allowed to get that close to me again. After all, if no-one got that close, they couldn't hurt me again, could they?

But Sam was different. I couldn't stand him when we first met, and wanted to personally throttle Malone for putting us together. And I sure as hell wasn't used to working with a partner, for God sake. In the SEALs we either worked alone or in a large group, but either way, you didn't actually have to place your trust in anyone. After all, if you were working alone, then you were relying on you and you alone. In a large group there's safety in numbers, and you can work with a lot of people without actually having to get close to any of them.

But in a team of two, especially if it's a permanent pairing rather than swapping around from one job to the next, you get to know the other person, and you have to trust them completely or both of you get killed.

I was so determined at the start that the pairing would last no more than a few weeks, that Malone would split us up and allow me to work solo. After all, not every agent in CI5 has a partner - Spence, Backup, Harley, they all work alone, and join up with various groups as and when needed. I even went as far as to request to Malone that the partnership be dissolved, though I don't think Sam knows, even now.

But Malone just told me that Sam's analytical skills and flair for languages could compensate for areas lacking in my own abilities, as my skills compensated for his.

He never got round to explaining exactly what skills I had that Sam lacked, though, and I've never managed to work it out. Except maybe a flair for uncovering explosives - the hard way.

So he refused to re-team me, and I stormed back into the partnership determined to hate Sam, to prove to Malone that it wasn't realistic.

And then everything changed.

I'm not even sure when things started to get better. As the weeks went by I started to see behind Sam's cold front, to see little glimpses of the person that he went to so much trouble to conceal, and started to warm to him. In a way, I suppose I felt some kind of affinity with him. He was hiding who he really was in the same way that I did, keeping everyone at arms' length, although he did it much more overtly than me. He was cold to people, making it blatantly obvious that he was distanced from everyone, while I was still friendly, and kept my distance using humour. Whenever I felt people getting too close I'd crack a joke, change the subject, whatever - it didn't matter as long as it kept things superficial. I was doing exactly the same as Sam, just in a different way.

So the partnership began to develop. I guess I was starting to open up to Sam, unconsciously at least, because I thought he was someone that I could relate to.

I'm an idiot.

All the time he was playing me. Putting on a front so that we could work together properly, making me think we were friends.

I pick up another piece of cold pizza and take a bite, but I don't want it, and just dump the rest back in the pizza box.

This isn't right.

Why should he bother?

If Sam didn't honestly want to become friends he didn't have to. Not every partnership in CI5 is as close as ours. A lot of them barely socialise outside work hours. So why would Sam think that he needed to put on a front with me? It's not even as if he did it for everyone.

A little voice inside my head starts whispering that I've made a mistake, that I've got it all wrong. Hell, it wouldn't be the first time.

For a second hope flares, and I reach for the phone. Maybe if I talk to him we can straighten this out. He'll tell me I'm being daft, and I can go back to work like nothing's happened.

I get as far as dialling three numbers before I'm slamming the phone back down in its cradle.

I'm right. Sam would tell me I'm being daft. Then tell me that we were never friends, that he thinks of me as nothing more than a work colleague, and that he wouldn't dream of being friends with someone like me.

And I don't think I could take that. Not yet. This is all too new, and if I talk to Sam before I've worked this all out, sorted out where I stand, then I risk showing him just how upset I'm feeling. I close my eyes, and I can almost see the sneer on his face, as he tells me just what he really thinks of me, all the time seeing just how eager I am for him to say that we are friends, that I've got it all wrong somehow.

But I can't have. A friend wouldn't do what Sam did, and I have to face that, bury the pain somewhere that Sam can't see it. And I can't feel it.

My mind is going round in circles, and I'm not getting anywhere. None of this makes any sense, and I'm too tired to work through it properly.

Kicking the pizza box out of the way, I stand up from out of my chair, switch off the lights and stuff before heading through to the bedroom. Maybe this will all be easier to work out after I get some rest. As I'm getting undressed I find the painkillers that Doc Fielding gave me, and stare at them for a minute, wondering whether or not to take some. They're not tranquillisers or anything, but they might help me sleep.

Finally I frown and dump them onto a shelf. I didn't end up on pills after Teresa died, and I'm damned if Sam bloody Curtis is going to drive me to them.

I collapse into bed, exhausted from everything, and convinced that I'll be asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

But sleep is a long time coming.

~*~ *~

 **Sam**

After I drop Chris off, by the time I find a taxi, it takes me almost an hour to get back to HQ. Malone's fuming, of course, obviously expecting me to have clicked my heels and spirited myself back to HQ the second he called me, but his snappy comments barely register.

Something's wrong with Chris.

At first I thought it was the adrenaline of the case wearing off, and that he was just tired. He'd obviously been in a fight, that much had been clear almost from the second he'd turned up at the warehouse because of the bruises and the slight limp he was trying ever so hard to disguise, but we've been partners for so long that it wasn't hard to see.

I know what it's like after a case like that, you spend days focussing on nothing but the investigation, and after it's done and the mopping up is over, exhaustion sets in. I mean, I'm shattered, and compared to Chris I was just an observer in Richmond.

He's been snapping and short-tempered ever since we got off the plane, and I honestly thought that he was just tired, and that all he needed was some rest.

Now I'm not so sure.

He's only snapping with me from what I can tell, though he hasn't exactly spent much time with anyone else so I could be wrong. But his comments in the car park, and the glances he keeps throwing me make me think that there's something more here than just lack of sleep.

"Mr. Curtis."

Only my self-preservation drags me out of my thoughts long enough for me to focus on Malone and realise that he's been talking to me, and I haven't heard a word of what he said. I straighten up, almost instinctively coming to attention, and brace myself for the coming lecture. If there's one thing that Malone hates, it's being ignored.

"Sir."

"Oh, you have joined us, I'm so pleased. If I'm not interrupting you, I'll continue. As I was saying, I shall be away for the next few days, so I shall rely on you three to run CI5 whilst I'm gone. And Mr. Keel, of course, once he returns."

I frown at the sound of Chris' name, and Backup notices, glancing briefly at me before speaking.

"Should I inform the Minister that you're away on holiday, sir?" Among Backup's more mundane duties is liasing with the Minister in Malone's absence, and informing her of any unscheduled absences as soon as they come to light.

"It's hardly a holiday, Miss Backus," Malone snaps. "I'm visiting Peter Morgan's mother."

"Oh. Sorry, sir."

Malone waves her apologies away impatiently. "I'll inform the Minister myself. What I want from you is your reports concerning the Richmond case. Deputy Assistant Director Dupree will want them before the Shepherd/Hall trial can take place."

"Yes, sir."

Malone nods and heads back into his office, closing the door behind him. Backup walks back to her monitor, smothering a yawn as she did so.

"How's Chris?"

I shrug, not quite sure how to answer. "Fielding sent him home. Another concussion, apparently."

Backup raises her eyebrows in surprise. "Really? He seemed alright. Bit tired maybe, but concussion?" Then it's her turn to shrug, acceding to the doctor's diagnosis. "You took him home?"

I nod.

"Good. Better get this report started. That way maybe I'll be able to go home at some point today." She turns to her monitor and starts typing, getting about three lines written before stopping and looking up at me. I haven't moved, still lost in thought about Chris. "Is something wrong, Sam?"

I hesitate before answering, still not sure whether something is wrong, or whether it's just my imagination. In the end I decide to talk to her. Maybe she can give me an objective opinion.

"Did Chris seem alright to you?"

"In what way?"

"I don't know, he just seemed short-tempered, a bit tense."

Even as I speak I can hear how pathetic that sounds. I sound like I'm mothering him.

Backup smiles, though she does look a little confused. "I can't say I noticed anything, Sam, but I wouldn't blame him, considering the past few days. Especially if he has a concussion, he's probably just tired."

She's right, of course. I don't need to start inventing problems where they don't exist.

Nodding, I head over to my own desk and start on my own version of the last few days. Backup's right. All Chris needs is some sleep, and I can't say I blame him.

Bed sounds quite appealing to me at the moment as well.

~*~ *~

 **Chris**

I didn't sleep all that well last night, and I don't feel particularly rested. Even so, the prospect of a couple of days off is enough to brighten up the morning to some extent at least.

Waking up this morning was strange. I was kind of half awake for a while, just drifting I guess, but even then I felt down, and I knew that something was wrong, though I wasn't awake enough to know what it was.

Then I remembered.

I'd half planned to laze in bed for an hour or two, enjoying the novelty of not racing into work before the sun had risen, but I got up soon after. Lying in bed left too much opportunity to think, and I needed a distraction or two to stop me thinking about it.

After breakfast - just a couple of eggs, I've managed to run out of everything else - I went for a jog, anything to get out of the apartment for a while. But I think I'm out of shape, I didn't manage more than a couple of miles before having to head back.

But with three days off, hopefully I can do something to fix that before returning to work. One thing the run did manage to do, though, was give me a sense of purpose, and replace some of the energy I needed to start sorting things out. Exercise does that actually, gives me an adrenaline rush, an energy boost. I don't just mean a quick jog, but give me a serious run, four or five miles and I feel more awake than after a good night's sleep or a day lazing around doing nothing.

Anyway, at some time during my morning's run I made the decision that I had to get going, work out what I was going to do. Whatever decision I make needs to be made by the time I'm back at work, and there's no time like the present, right?

Which is why I'm sat at my table, facing my laptop, and trying to write my report on the Richmond case. I figure that if I can get my report finished first, it'll help me get straight in my mind exactly what happened. I'm still angry, but I know that I need to put the anger aside for a while. It won't be any use to me here.

It's hard, though. Every sentence that I write brings back what happened, and with it comes the fear, and the panic that I felt in waking up in the trunk of the car.

That's something that I'm not ashamed to admit, even if it is just to myself, since there's no-one else here to admit it to. I was scared.

Working in the SEALs, and CI5, and all the other organisations that I've worked in, you don't stop being scared, or frightened by what you see and experience. I wouldn't be human if I didn't feel those things at all.

I wonder if Sam feels things like fear? He never shows it.

What you do learn is how to cope with it. How to use the fear to your advantage. If I hadn't learnt that, I would have frozen, been too caught up in the fear to think clearly, and probably wouldn't be sitting here thinking about it now.

Some people think that emotions are a liability, that they impair judgement and hold people back. But I don't agree. No way. It's your emotions that give you intuition, and strength, especially in extraordinary situations like the ones I face on a daily basis.

I mean, I've heard of women actually lifting and moving cars by themselves when a loved one is trapped underneath, and other amazing feats that are almost unthinkable under normal situations.

And what gives them the strength to do things like that? Don't tell me that a housewife lifting a heavy car by herself is normal. They don't just decide that they're suddenly strong enough to do that, it's fear, an emotional response to a terrifying situation.

It was the fear that managed to combat the drugs they'd given me long enough to get out of the trunk and escape, plus, of course, the fact that I don't think the anaesthetic worked as fast as they thought it would. It might have done its job on Peter Morgan, but it had had time to work on him if his drink had been spiked in the bar and he'd made it up to the hotel room before collapsing.

All it did for me was make me dizzy enough for one of them to knock me out. I'm no expert, but I don't think the drugs kicked in until I'd got out of the car and lost them in the forest.

Thank God.

It's the only explanation I can think of for waking up twice in the trunk in quick succession, and then passing out under a bush and not coming round again until the morning.

So close. So damn close to Richmond becoming my final resting place.

It makes me cringe to think about it. And I slept with the light on last night. How stupid is that? I've never been claustrophobic, but after encountering the trunk of a car and then spending the rest of the night out in the dark, the dark of my bedroom unnerved me a bit.

Oh, and sleeping out under the stars? Not all it's cracked up to be. Trust me on that one.

~*~ *~

 **Richmond, Virginia.**

I wake up with a start, and even as I open my eyes my head is spinning.

So is everything else. Whatever it is I'm lying on isn't stable. For a minute I think I'm even dizzier than I thought I was, before I take in my surroundings and push myself up onto my elbow.

I'm in the trunk of a car.

Shit.

I hit out at the roof that's just inches above my face, knowing that there's no chance of it opening even before I try. All the films where the bonnet flies open at the slightest tap are obviously bullshit.

My head is still spinning, and as the car goes over a pothole or something, the darkness fluttering at the edges of my vision descends again. I'm barely aware of the car speeding up as I pass out again.

Sorry, Sam...

...I wake up again, and I'm still in the trunk.

It wasn't a dream, then. It's dark in here, and hot. I can barely see anything. The pounding in my head has eased off a little, and I forcefully push down the first hint of panic I can feel as sweat forms on my forehead. This wasn't supposed to happen.

But bitching about it isn't going to help, is it? I force myself to think clearly, and start feeling around me, looking for something, anything that'll help me get out of here. When my fingers close around something cold and metallic, I let out a sigh of relief and give thanks to whoever was stupid enough to leave a toolbag complete with crowbar in here.

Positioning the crowbar into the lock, I use all the strength I have to try and force the lock open. For a few seconds I don't think it's going to budge, and I listen carefully to the hum of the engine, terrified that at any minute it's going to slow down as the car reaches its destination and stops. The crowbar slips out of the lock, and I bite back a curse as I re-position the metal and start again.

If I don't get out of here before the car stops I've got no chance.

Eventually I give up with the crowbar and try something else. I can't really tell what it is, a screwdriver maybe, but it's shorter, which gives me more room to force it down. This time it works, and as I hear the click as the lock springs open, relief floods through me. Who says Sam's the only one who can pick a lock?

The bonnet flies up and I throw myself out of the trunk, landing heavily on my side before my momentum sends me rolling over and over, coming to a stop at the edge of the road. Things are still spinning around me as I force myself to my feet, but I've got no time to waste getting my bearings back. I can already hear the screech of brakes as the car stops. Shaking dirt and sharp stones from my hands, I stagger into the bushes at the edge of the forest, praying I can lose them in the foliage. I know damn well I'm not in any condition to face them both again.

Sudden light from their torches appears just behind me, and is all I need to know that they're following me. The torchlight is going to be able to pick me out in a second if I just run, so I drop to the ground, pulling myself along with my arms in the hopes that they won't see me.

They're making no secret of their pursuit, and I can hear the noise as they crash noisily through the undergrowth, getting louder as they gain on me.

I'm slowing down, and starting to feel distinctly unwell. I feel sick and the pain is back, making it harder for me to co-ordinate my movements. The torchlight starts snapping at my feet. I don't know how long it'll be before it picks me out, but I cover my face in dirt, trying to make myself invisible before grimly carrying on again.

This goes on for a while, with me getting slower and slower as whatever the hell was in that syringe kicks in. Everything around me is spinning now, and I seem to be losing control of my arms and legs. I feel ridiculously like I'm drunk.

They're still getting closer, but the stupid thing is, I still don't know who they are. Even if by some miracle I get out of this in one piece, it will all have been a complete waste of time, since I don't know any more than any of us knew before this started.

And where the hell are the others anyway? I thought they were supposed to be following me.

A twig snaps just behind me, and I drop flat to the ground, conceal myself the best I can under some long branches of some kind, and freeze.

It seems like forever before I see their shadows as they walk past me. All the time I'm expecting one of them to shout out as they see me, but they just walk past, still studying the undergrowth. Somehow, they miss me.

It's a goddamned miracle.

Stopping for even those few seconds is enough for the adrenaline that's been keeping me going to drain away, but I drag myself up to my knees anyway, watching them as they move away into the distance. I try to get to my feet to make my way back into town, but instead the world lurches around me and I keel over, collapsing onto my back.

I get the briefest view of the stars above me before passing out for the third time...

...It's daylight when I next open my eyes, and I squint as the light makes the pain in my head ten times worse.

This is getting to be a habit.

I pull myself slowly to my feet, wincing as my body protests against the uncomfortable place where I slept.

I jog out of the forest, keeping a wary eye out for any men in ski masks and long coats. I've got no reason to think that they'll still be here, but some sense of self-preservation - or should that be paranoia? - has me looking around anyway.

The emergency phone looks like a godsend when I emerge into the sunlight, but of course it isn't, which I discover when I reach it and see the state of the handset. Teenage vandals strike again.

Then I see the truck heading towards me, and try for a lift.

I'm so grateful that he stops I even bite back a retort after being relegated to the back, obviously further down the evolutionary ladder than a pig meant to be the 'B' in a BLT. Instead I grin and jog round and climb up in between the boxes.

Right now, I think I'm high on life. A life I didn't think I was going to have after last night.

I'll take anything thrown at me this morning, as long as I can get back to the others. I've been missing all night, and Sam must be going nuts...

~*~ *~

...only he wasn't, was he?

All I got was a grin and a sarcastic "you're slipping". Even that didn't really register with me at the time, I was so busy reporting to Malone and then chasing off after Matthew.

Now, of course, I'm writing my report, which means I have to go over everything that happened with a fine toothcomb. So now I'm noticing everything I didn't really pick up on before, like the packed suitcases, and the comments Sam made at the warehouse.

And it does hurt. The very idea that Sam's cold, heartless exterior might actually be real is difficult to believe. Could I really have misread him so badly?

And if I did, what on earth am I supposed to do about it?

The report is just about finished, I'll dot the 'i's and cross the 't's later.

Switching off the laptop, I stare at the blank screen for a while. Again, I'm left with nothing much to do, and decide to go out for a while. It's only as I step outside and lock the door behind me that I realise I've got no idea where I'm going to go.

~*~ *~

 **Sam**

Turning up for work this morning is strange, because Chris isn't here. You'd think I'd be used to working without him by now, considering the number of times he's managed to end up on sick leave, but I'm not.

Chris manages to make even the dullest job amusing, even if it's only by distracting me from it. And if that job is paperwork, then he has an uncanny ability to get me to write it all, which I don't usually realise until it's too late to do anything more than complain, anyway.

So when he's not here, CI5 seems particularly boring. Especially since Malone usually sticks me on desk duty anyway, not really considering me able to work without Chris by my side. It's something Malone does with every paired team, putting one partner on desk duty while the other recuperates, unless we're ridiculously busy or the other partner is undergoing long term convalescence. It used to annoy me when we were first partners. After all, I'm perfectly capable of doing my job even if a certain American isn't with me.

But I've come to appreciate it over the months since we've been partnered. Apart from anything else, when I'm the one off sick, it's reassuring to know that Chris isn't likely to get into that much trouble when I'm not there to watch his back. Though where Chris is concerned, trouble is a relative term. Even so, it certainly alleviates the guilt I know I would feel if Chris got hurt while I was ill.

Don't get me wrong, I have the utmost respect for the American, and he's as good in the field as I am, perhaps better in some respects. But I still can't shake the worry I feel when he's working and I'm not there with him. I presume he feels the same way, though we've never actually talked about it.

Malone isn't one to pander to our feelings, though, so there is a perfectly logical reason to hold one half of a team back unless absolutely necessary. When you work as part of a team, you adjust your own methods, gradually, until both of you work seamlessly together, anticipating each other's reactions. And it takes time to adjust back, so if I was to go out to work without Chris, I wouldn't be working at complete efficiency, because I would have to constantly compensate for the fact that I'm not working with Chris, and it isn't his reactions I have to anticipate. It's Backup's, or Spencer's. And while they're both good agents in their own right, they're not Chris.

Sometimes, however, Malone has to send us out anyway.

Like today.

And he's not even here. The man's ability to dictate our lives, even from thousands of miles away, never ceases to amaze me.

Backup drops the bombshell just after I've finished my report on the case in Richmond.

Not that I have a whole lot to report. Most of the important evidence in that case will be provided by Chris, since it's only his abduction that they're being charged with. I'm sure my report, which is full of details about organ removal and the like, will be buried somewhere in the FBI where no-one connected with the trial will ever read it.

The FBI are well renowned for 'accidentally' losing reports when it suits them. Like MI6 are good at losing agents. The thought of my old outfit dims my mood for a second. They have the highest 'missing agent' count out of all the security services I know of, and a lot of people I know mysteriously disappeared, and became no more than names on the MIA list.

I was even one of them for a while...

But that's all in the past, and something I buried quite determinedly when I joined CI5. I'm not even sure if Malone's records have any mention of it.

I hit 'Print' harder than I probably should have, and force myself to turn my thoughts back to more pleasant things as I walk over to the printer and start gathering up paper.

This is one report that Chris will have to do for himself. I'm still grinning at the thought of Chris grumbling about having to write it as I head over to hand her the finished document.

As she takes the papers and reads through it she strikes me that she resembling a schoolmistress or something. I half expect her to pull out a red pen and start marking it, and can't help chuckling at the image. All she needs is a pair of half moon spectacles.

She glances up, curious, and smiles back at me.

"You're cheerful this morning."

"Any reason I shouldn't be?"

"Well, you're normally storming round like a bear with a sore head when Chris is on sick leave."

"Oh, be fair, Backup. I'm not that bad."

She just smiled.

"How is he, anyway?"

At that my good mood faltered, ever so slightly. "I don't know. I haven't spoken to him since I dropped him home yesterday."

"Oh." She tries hard to avoid it, but the note of surprise in Backup's voice is painfully obvious.

As much as I don't want it to, Chris' behaviour yesterday is still bothering me. I'm not even sure why. I mean, nothing was said, it's just a feeling - there was an atmosphere, 'something' there yesterday that shouldn't have been.

Chris has always had a temper, and I've put up with a moody partner more than once since we met. But still, yesterday was different, and it bothered me enough to stop me from phoning him when I finally got home last night. For some reason, I suddenly wasn't sure what reception I was going to get. I rationalised it, of course, deciding that a concussed Chris wouldn't appreciate a phone call at a quarter to midnight, especially if he'd been asleep.

But I know that was only part of the reason why I didn't call. Otherwise, I could have called him at any time throughout the morning, and I haven't.

In fact, I'll call him now.

Spurred on by a sudden determination and only a hint of foreboding, I head for the nearest phone, but before I reach it, a quiet curse from Spencer stops me in my tracks.

He never swears - he's one of the politest, most softly spoken men I've ever met.

I backtrack, coming to stand next to his monitor. Spence is half out of his chair already, frowning at his monitor as he gestures to Backup with his free hand. His left hand is flying over the keyboard, and the picture on the monitor is becoming clearer in response.

Backup joins us, the confusion on her face mirroring my own. Neither of us have the slightest clue what's going on, but we're both well aware of Spence's nature, and the swearing alone is enough to cause concern.

"Spence? What is it?"

"Bolton. He's packing up."

"What?"

Richard Bolton is a small time arms dealer, not exactly a dangerous fugitive or anything, but even one gun can be deadly in the wrong hands. Apparently, Bolton has pissed off someone in a very high place, because we were asked to keep an eye on him.

Officially, that was all it was, reconnaissance. Unofficially, it was made quite plain that if it looked like anything major was going on, CI5 should arrest him and his friends immediately. Small details like warrants and probable cause could be worried about later, since while we may have been told that he's an arms dealer, the small amount of proof we've been able to gather over the recent months wouldn't stand up to a school debate team, let alone a courtroom.

Still, Malone says we have to be ready to pull him in at the slightest sign of anything out of the ordinary. I'd say that people suddenly running frantically about with boxes and trucks in what is usually a quiet industrial park qualifies as exactly that.

Here we go again.

Privately, none of us - including Malone - actually thought that our surveillance of Bolton was ever going to amount to anything. It was painfully obvious to everyone that the only reason anyone cared about him at all was because he'd managed to piss someone off. I've no idea what he did, probably made a pass at the wrong Minister's daughter. Or maybe at the wrong Minister. It could be anything.

About all we do know is that investigating the arms dealing is just an excuse to cause Bolton some trouble, and Malone hates being used in political wrangling. Unfortunately, we don't have much of a choice, we've been told to bring him in, so that's exactly what we'll have to do.

Not that CI5 usually make a habit of ignoring illegal arms dealing, however small time it may be in comparison to some. We're not being harmless, or playing God, it's just that we don't have enough resources to deal with everything, and Bolton's kind of operation ought to be under the jurisdiction of Scotland Yard.

Not that any of that actually makes a difference right now. Whatever the reason, we've been told to pull him in, and judging from the status of the trucks we can see in the live satellite pictures, we have to move fast. Some of the trucks are already full and starting to pull away.

Yelling to Rebecca to keep a track on any vehicles seen leaving the industrial estate in case we need to find them later, Backup, Spencer and I hold a hurried conference before heading for the door. We don't have an awful lot of manpower, what with Malone away and Chris and a couple of others on sick leave, so we need all the help that we can get.

As the three of us start focussing on the operation ahead, I only have a few seconds to regret not being able to call Chris.

Unfortunately, as always, work has to come first.

~*~ *~

It doesn't take us very long to get to the industrial estate, but another team was closer still and didn't wait for us before going in. We've been getting updates on the organised chaos that usually accompanies a CI5 raid, and by the time we arrive things seem pretty much sorted.

Turner and Jamieson were leading the raid, and even as we pull up Turner is marching Bolton over towards the car. Bolton looks a bit dishevelled but he's not hurt, which would please Malone immensely if only he were around to see it. The old man always gives us lectures on the use of 'reasonable force' when apprehending criminals; apparently the percentage of people we injure or kill is totally unacceptable.

I've never quite been sure whether he'd rather we just stood there and let them shoot us, not that I'd ever dream of asking him that one. I'll leave that to Chris. He still hasn't quite grasped the concept of just agreeing with Malone, without answering back to everything that he says. If he used the same attitude in the Navy, I will never understand how he managed to make a Navy SEAL.

Except, of course, that he's one of the most skilled people I've ever worked with. I'm sure that counts for something.

Seeing various people being herded towards cars Spencer relaxes, obviously thinking that our job is over before it started. I'm not quite so sure, though I know most of that is my training. To never take anything for granted and to be suspicious of every situation is something that was drummed into me in MI6, and is one of the few things I didn't try to forget once I joined CI5.

Besides, I'm sure Bolton had more people than this working for him.

I draw my gun as I walk away from the car and over to Turner, and see him raise his eyebrows and grin, openly amused at what he probably thinks of as paranoid over-caution.

Backup isn't so sure, apparently, since apart from the gun she's matching me move for move. She looks over to Turner as he shuts the car door on Bolton, who's glowering from behind the car window.

"Are we secure?"

Turner grins back. "Course we are! You guys needn't have bothered putting down your coffees."

She laughs, but I can't see Bolton's right hand man, a little weasel of a man named Skinner. I'm sure I saw him on the satellite pictures before we left.

"Where's Skinner?"

Turner shrugs. "He's not here. He must have left before we arrived." Turner turns back to his partner, effectively ending the conversation. He doesn't like me, I've got no illusions on that score. There's a small number of CI5 agents, (at least, I think it's small), who see me as cold and unfriendly. When they didn't think I was around, I've even heard them trying to work out just what Malone was on when he paired me with everybody's 'best mate', Chris Keel. Apparently, the easy-going American and the stuck-up Brit. couldn't possibly make a successful partnership. I've even heard rumours that when we were first paired, there was a book being run on how long it would be before either Chris asked to be re-teamed, or I killed him.

Ridiculously enough, at first I wouldn't have given them very good odds on it being much more than a week either. It wasn't long before we became friends, though, and the rumours evolved into wondering how on earth Keel could stand working with me day in, day out.

There are drawbacks in learning the art of stealth, since you have a tendency to hear things about yourself that you didn't want to know. Though I must admit, on a few occasions I have appeared silently behind them while they're discussing me rather than just moving away like I usually do. The looks of nervous shock they get when they finally realise I'm there are highly amusing, even to a stuck up Brit with no sense of humour.

I ignore Turner, moving over to Backup and gesturing off towards the rubbish that litters the pavements and alleyways around us.

"I'm going to take another look around. I'm sure Skinner was here."

She nods, and I walk away from the other agents milling everywhere.

I'm convinced that he's still around here somewhere, and as I head slowly around the corner the adrenaline starts flowing. The warehouse, as they always are, is pretty much derelict, with bits of wood and tiling lying haphazardly on the concrete at my feet. Of all the surroundings in which to hunt for someone, this is probably one of the hardest, since the debris and broken windows provide lots of places to hide.

With all the people around, I doubt very much that Skinner is still outside. If he had managed to get out of the warehouse without being seen, then the chances are that he's already miles away. So if he is still here, then inside the building seems the likeliest place. I go in through the nearest door, gun drawn.

It's bright sunshine outside, but not much of it has filtered through the filth on the windows, and I can't see very well. The building stretches off ahead of me into dark shadowy corners - and I'm painfully aware of the ambush potential.

There's silence all about me as I move into the darkness, and all I can hear is the thud of my shoes on the concrete. There's only one level here, but I know that further on there's a warren of offices that stretches over two floors, and if Skinner is there, then the two of us could be playing hide and seek for hours.

As I walk towards the maze of rooms, I'm toying with the idea of going back outside and getting some of the others to come and help me search. Turner won't believe me, but I'm convinced Skinner is close by, and a search part will be able to flush him out faster than I can.

Besides, I've got more important things to do than hunt for a second-rate excuse for an arms dealer that the police could probably bring in without all that much effort.

I still haven't spoken to Chris, and I want to call in on him and make sure that he's doing okay.

I sense something close by, and then hear something clang behind me. Spinning round, I'm just in time to see something metal turn once in the air before coming back to hit the ground with a thud.

Something that's very obviously been thrown from behind me.

The oldest trick in the book.

Shit.

I spin round, but even as I start to turn I know that it's too late. There's someone coming up close behind me - I think I can safely assume that it's not Backup.

An arm wraps itself around my throat, and I'm dragged backwards a couple of paces almost before I can register what's happening. The grip loosens ever so slightly, but the arm is replaced by something much thinner - a rope, maybe? Whatever it is, it's tight, much tighter than his arm was, and I start to choke as my airway is cut off. I drive my elbow back into his middle, trying to force him to loosen his grip, but it doesn't work. My assailant does cry out, but instead of letting go he simply pushes me forward, then trips me as I stagger off balance. The floor rushes up to meet me, but I manage to twist so that I land on my side instead of face down. He follows me down and I start to roll away, but he manages to straddle me anyway, and I can't go anywhere.

The ends of the rope are still hanging round my neck, and a fist to my jaw stuns me long enough for Skinner (and I know it's him now that I've seen his face) to pick up the ends and pull them tight again. I can hear my heart pounding in my head as I start gasping for breath all over again, and I bring up my arms to try and push him off me, but I'm all out of air and don't seem to have much strength left. I would have tried to kick him off of me, but he's straddling my hips, so there's not a whole lot I can do with them either.

The rope draws tighter, and what little air I've been able to drag in stops completely. My head starts spinning, and the sight of Skinner's plump face grinning down at me starts to blur. I try to pull the rope away from my throat, but I don't have the energy to do more than scratch ineffectually at it.

Shit.

The black cloud at the edge of my vision descends until all I can see is a tiny pinprick of light at the centre of my eyes, and I'm vaguely aware of my hands dropping limply at my sides as my eyes flutter closed.

The rope pulls tighter still.

~*~ *~

 **Chris**

I end up walking for hours - not really seeing anything, but it's a relief to simply get out of the apartment for a while. Being outside, even if it is freezing cold, means that I'm not really on my own like I was in the flat. It's amazing how much time you can waste by simply people watching. The mother with four kids struggling to get on a bus, the twenty-something guy with his mobile phone surgically attached to his ear - whatever you see, it's enough to keep your thoughts on a superficial level, little more than daydreaming really.

But eventually I turn and head back home. It's not dark yet which makes it easier to find my way back, but it's not exactly easy to get lost in London, if all else fails you just hail a cab and hope it doesn't cost too much. In spite all that our job entails we don't exactly get a great salary, so I tend to avoid cabs in general.

When I turn the corner and come in sight of my front door, I'm surprised to find Backup's car in front of my gate, and her pacing up and down my path impatiently. When she sees me, she stops for a second before walking briskly over to me, frowning.

"Where on earth have you been, Keel? I've been here for ages."

"I went for a walk."

"A walk? You're supposed to be resting Chris, remember!"

Well aware that I've got nothing physically wrong with me that actually requires rest, I simply shrug and walk past her towards my door, beckoning her to follow me.

"So what's up?" She's still looking impatient, so there's obviously a reason why she's here, beyond simply checking to make sure I'm using my sick leave wisely.

"Something happened at work today..." she hesitates briefly, and I turn back to face her, painfully aware that I've got a pretty good idea what's coming. "It's Sam. He's been hurt."

It's the same feeling I always get - first the numbness as what she has said sinks in, and then the shock settles. Fear, concern, and any number of other emotions that I can't even begin to identify. But, as always, the damage has already been done, and there's not a damn thing that I can do to change it.

Backup is still standing there, apparently waiting for some kind of response, though exactly what she's expecting me to say I have no idea.

So I rely on the obvious. "What happened? Where is he?"

"He's in St. Luke's Hospital, but he's okay. Someone tried to strangle him, and they're just keeping him in for observation."

"Observation? Why? What for?"

"It's only a precaution, Chris." Backup's voice is full of concern, but it is as much for me as for Sam. "They want to make sure that there's no risk of secondary strangulation if the bruising on his throat swells up too much. But he's going to be alright."

Even as she speaks, she and I both know that it won't make a damn bit of difference. No matter what she says, no matter how optimistic the doctors are, it won't change anything. Won't change the fact that nothing is going to reassure me that Sam's okay until I see it with my own eyes. And that's why, when I sprint to my car and take off without another word, Backup's image in the rear-view mirror doesn't look the least bit surprised.

The traffic is fucking awful, and by the time I reach the hospital grounds, Backup is only a few car lengths behind me. I head straight to the Emergency Room and the reception desk, interrupting the blonde receptionist's phone call in my haste to find out where Sam is.

The woman is still vehemently protesting at my behaviour, and my seeming inability to wait my turn when Backup arrives and pulls me away from the desk, apologising to the blonde as she does so.

Of course. Backup must have been here before, she probably came with Sam when he was first brought in.

She grabs me by the arm and pulls me down the corridor without saying a word. She knows both Sam and I well enough by now to know that there's no point in speaking, neither of us are particularly logical when worried about the other.

Sam has been given a private room just off of the main ward. Backup walks through the door in front of me and down by the head of Sam's bed. She glances back, expecting me to follow her into the room, but I don't. I can't seem to force myself to go any further than the edge of the doorframe.

He's lying in bed, fully clothed, but even from here I can see the bruising that has formed around his neck. His eyes are closed, and he hasn't reacted to our entry - I think he's asleep, but to be honest I can't quite tell.

I want to go closer, to reassure myself that he's really okay, but suddenly I can't. All I can think about is Richmond. Sam didn't give a shit about what had happened to me then, and yet after everything I'd decided - Sam has one slight altercation and all my resolutions go out of the window.

I'm an idiot.

A stupid, sentimental fool who relies too much on friendships that don't mean anything to anybody else but me.

Sam stirs slightly on the bed, and even as his eyes start to open I'm already turning away. I can't do this. I can't sit here and act like the dutiful partner when I know that he wouldn't do the same for me. The difference is that I do care, that I want to sit with him until he wakes up and tells me to go home.

But I won't.

I might not have that much self-respect left, but I have enough that I can't stay here.

I catch a glimpse of Backup's startled look as she realises that I'm leaving.

"Chris?" A quiet voice, but it's not hers, it's Sam's. I've left it too late, and he's already woken up.

Damn.

I leave the room without a word, and don't stop until I'm outside the hospital.

To my surprise and relief, Backup doesn't even try to follow me. Getting behind the wheel of my car, I slam my foot down on the gas pedal and speed all the way home, taking out my frustrations on the road and the drivers around me.

~*~ *~

 **Sam**

I'm still only half awake when Chris runs out of the hospital room, but I am conscious enough to notice the anguish displayed on his face when he does so. It throws me, but I guess at least now I know I was right, that there is something wrong with Keel. I don't have the slightest idea what that might be, though.

About the only thing I can come up with is guilt. That's not all that unusual, we both have an annoying tendency to wallow in guilt when the other has been hurt, but that doesn't make sense this time. After all, this is nothing, the only reason I'm not at home stretched out on my sofa right now is as a precaution. Besides, Chris wasn't even in on the raid in the first place - so how can he be feeling guilty about something that happened when he was at least a dozen miles away?

I don't understand, but I don't have the energy to try and find out at the moment. While the injury isn't serious, I'm still exhausted, though the doctors say that it's only natural.

I'd just about given up trying to get away from Skinner when I heard Backup's voice coming from somewhere, but I suppose I'd been without oxygen for too long, and I passed out even as I'd realised who it was.

I wasn't out for long, a minute or two at the most, but by the time I came to it was all over. Even as I opened my eyes Backup was pulling the rope from around my neck, and Skinner was whimpering in a corner somewhere after Spencer had put a bullet in his leg to force him to let go of me.

Apparently they'd got sick of waiting for me to come back so that we could all leave, and had come looking for me, walking in just as I passed out.

I'm well aware that I owe them both, big time, since if they hadn't been so impatient I'd be dead right about now. I make a mental note to send Backup a big bunch of flowers at the earliest opportunity, and I'll find something for Spencer as well, though right now I'm not quite sure what.

Not that I was quite coherent enough to realise that at the time, since I was too busy coughing and dragging air into my lungs. Spencer dragged Skinner away while Backup stayed with me, and when I was finally able to stand on shaking legs she helped me up and to the car.

She drove me straight to the hospital, refusing to even acknowledge the half-hearted protests I made, though considering how hoarse my voice was she might not have actually heard them. No matter. Either way I'm here, and just for one night I'll happily play the good little patient and follow the doctor's orders. I'm sensible enough to know that the sleep will do me good.

But first thing in the morning I'm out of here, and heading straight round to Chris'. Whatever's going on in his head, it needs sorting out once and for all.

Whether he likes it or not.

~*~ *~

 **Chris**

As soon as I get home I lock the front door behind me and pull a Bud from the fridge. Then I do something that I don't usually do. I close all the blinds in the apartment, determinedly shutting out the outside world. With all the curtains closed the rooms all become dark, the dull light from a lamp the only source of light. It's comforting, almost like I've cocooned myself away from everything else.

It's a strange feeling, but one that I've come to trust over the years. Oddly enough, it's the same feeling that you get when you're flying at night, especially if you're above the clouds. Ignoring the instrument lights, everything around you is dark, and although you're flying, it's as if you're flying through nothing, as if there's nothing out there, and you're all alone. It's a sensation that I grew to love. It's comforting, because if there's nothing out there, then all of the problems and hassles of everyday life slip away. And then, of course, once you've separated yourself from your problems and feel safe, you can slowly begin to examine what it is that's bothering you - one thing at a time, because you're still cocooned in your own little world, and they can't really hurt you. It gives you the time you need to deal with everything rationally. At least, that's the theory anyway, and it's one that's always worked for me in the past.

Unfortunately, I've forgotten something simple, which spoils the whole effect.

The telephone.

The ring startles me, and I jump up and answer it before I've really thought about what I'm doing.

Of course, as soon as I hear the voice on the end of the line, I know that I should have let the answer phone take the call.

It's Backup, and she doesn't sound happy.

"Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"You want to tell me what's going on?"

Not bloody likely. So I try for innocent instead.

"About what?"

"About your partner, Chris," she answers dryly. "About why you rushed all the way to the hospital in a panic and then left before you even got into Sam's room?"

What the hell am I supposed to say? I stall for time, trying to come up with something that she'll believe, which won't result in her sending me straight to the shrinks.

"What about it?"

"Don't give me this crap, Keel," she snaps. "It's blatantly obvious to anyone who even vaguely knows you that something's wrong, and that it's something to do with Sam. Now what the hell is going on?"

"Nothing, Backup. I just had some things to do."

"Like what?" Her tone of voice makes it plainly obvious that she doesn't believe me.

"Just an appointment to see someone - I was running late. Besides, you're always telling us not to get so upset when the other one is hurt, and Sam's alright, so what's the point in wasting my day off hanging around Sam's room? He'd probably rather I left him alone so he could get some rest anyway."

I take a deep breath after the final sentence, well aware of just how much Sam would wish I left him alone. He can't complain now that he's finally getting his wish, can he?

"Mmm. Right. Well, Sam'll be out of the hospital sometime tomorrow lunchtime."

"Okay. Well I'm a little busy tomorrow, Backup. If you see him, tell him I'll see him back at work Monday."

I doubt that this'll stop him coming over if he wants to, but it's worth a try, I suppose.

"Oh."

She sounds surprised, but thankfully doesn't push it, for which I'm eternally grateful. I say a brief goodbye and end the call before she can say anything more.

Officially tomorrow I'm still on sick leave, though I'm well aware that by rights I should be back at work, since there's absolutely nothing wrong with me.

Still, it doesn't really matter - Malone's away, Rawlings signed me off personally, and I might as well take the time off while I can enjoy it. Except that I'm not really enjoying it.

Making the decision that I need something to take my mind off of all this, I head back to the phone and dial Kirstie's number. It's about time I called her back anyway, and some female company might be exactly what I need to cheer me up.

Happily she's in, and we end up going out for the rest of the evening. Just to a local pub, nothing particularly exciting, but I'm not sure I'm up to strenuous at the moment, and we're still at the getting to know each other stage, so it's nice just to be able to sit and chat.

The hours pass pleasantly enough, but being a nurse the hours she works are almost as awkward as mine, and she leaves the pub at closing to head straight over to the hospital, apparently doing the graveyard shift. At least that explains why she's been on soft drinks all night. I'm well aware that I could have gone with her, dropped in to see Sam even if visiting hours are long over - but I don't.

Instead we kiss goodbye and I drive home alone, getting into my apartment and locking the door behind me before heading straight to bed without a second thought.

After days of sleeping very little, this time I'm asleep almost as soon as I climb gratefully between the covers.

I'm holding her, caught up in joy now that we're married, and have a whole life together waiting for us. Then the screaming starts, and I feel the impact as the force of the bullet propels her further into my arms. I hold on to her as we fall, trying to ease her landing as we hit the ground by the buffet table. I watch helplessly as her wedding dress turns blood red. I've been here so many times before, and I know every gasping breath she takes as if it were my own. But there's nothing I can do to save her.

There never is.

Every time I go through this a part of me thinks I can change it, stop it from happening, stop her from leaving me all over again. But I never do anything different, and just live through it again like it was the first time.

Teresa dies in my arms again, and I look up like I always do, searching for the eyes of the man who'd killed her. They never caught anyone for the massacre, so there are never any eyes for me to look into. Just a shadow, standing in stark contrast to the hard lines of the machine gun.

But this time was different. Something has changed. The shadow is gone, and in its place is a pair of ice cold green eyes staring back at mine, and a figure holding the gun just like always.

Sam...

...He raises the gun again, and points it at me without hesitation.

I scream...

...and wake up with a start and a cry, still gripped in the terror of the dream. At first I think I'm still in the garden, still watching my life be destroyed around me, and I'm so scared I can't move. I recognise the pounding heart and gasping breaths as typical side-effects of what I've just witnessed, if only a pale imitation of what I went through the first time, when the nightmare had been horrifyingly real.

It takes a long time for me to throw off the paralysing effect of the dream, and I lie still, listening to my surroundings. Only the silence engulfing me is finally enough to convince me that I'm in my own home, that I'm alone, and that I'm safe. The terror that had paralysed me finally passes, and I sit up, still shaking, and stagger from the bed, walking in a daze into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

The glass shakes as I fill it, and I take a huge gulp before forcing myself to sip it slowly. As it slips down my throat the water is wonderfully cold, and doing something as mundane as drinking is finally enough to dissipate the remnants of the nightmare.

Putting the empty glass down, I head over to the wall and switch on all the lights. It's a routine I've got into, something I do automatically whenever the nightmares come. Get out of bed, get a glass of water, (having one ready by my bed doesn't work, since it has to be ice cold to do any good,) switch all the lights on to disperse all the shadows, and then go and sit by the window for the rest of the night. I don't often go back to sleep after dreaming about the wedding.

The routine dutifully fulfilled without much thought, I curl up in the seat by the window and stare out unseeing across the graveyard. The clock on the wall next to me reads 4:45am, but it's September, so the first tendrils of the dawn haven't yet started to push their way through the graves. There's a lone streetlight across the other side of the small churchyard which provides a little light, but it's nowhere near enough to battle against the darkness of night, so the light just ends up looking quite pathetic - an illusory point of safety.

It's odd, I suppose, that I should find a comfort of sorts in looking out into darkness, when every single light in my apartment is shining brightly. I guess it's because the darkness is outside that I like it. With all the lights on in here, there's no way that the night can get in, and I'm protected by brick and glass, so it's no threat to me.

Finally I know I'm as calm as I'm going to get considering what's just happened, and I force myself to face up to the dream. In so many ways it's just the same as it always is, and I've long since come to terms with the knowledge that the dreams will always be with me, appearing randomly and without warning.

But they've always been exactly the same dream, word for word and action for action, and this sudden change, with Sam suddenly appearing as the gunman has thrown me. Even now, wide awake and well aware that it was just a dream, the image of Sam standing in the garden with the machine gun is enough to start me shivering again.

I know that I can't keep postponing this, can't keep skirting round the issue - a few more dreams like that and I won't be able to face Sam at all. If it comes to that then a re-teaming will be the only option left to me, and I'm damned if that is going to happen. If Sam really feels as contemptuous towards me as I think he does, then us being re-teamed because of my amateurish behaviour will simply amuse him, and prove that everything he really thought of me was true.

And I'm damned if I'm going to give him the satisfaction.

But it's hard. It's so hard to reconcile this idea of Sam with the friend, that I've grown to trust. I think of Sam going contentedly to bed while I'm missing, but it's not the same person who was so comforting after that nightmare about Teresa, or who carried me across the African bush in the blistering heat. It can't be.

And yet, I've seen him when we're working, when he's undercover, or we're playing good cop - bad cop. He's so damn convincing that sometimes he even unnerves me, his own partner.

But which persona is real?

I'm not even sure that I want to know.

As I stare blindly out of the window, something comes back to me. Months back, when we were guarding Perry at the hospital - and I couldn't even manage to do that properly - Sam said something to me. What was it?

Oh yeah, 'if one of us ends up in a body bag, it's bound to be you.' The partnership was fairly new then, and Sam had been constantly making comments like that, but that particular phrase had stayed with me a lot longer than most. Probably because of the way he'd spoken. He'd sounded almost cheerful about it, almost as if he'd have preferred for me to die if it was a choice between the two of us. This is probably going to sound corny, and I'm not bucking for saint status or anything, but even then I'd known that I'd have given my life to save his.

Though, maybe not because of Sam himself, but simply because I didn't feel that I could have lived with myself if anyone had died when I'd known I could have stopped it, even if it meant giving my own life instead. I know I'm idealistic, especially compared to Sam, but I guess hearing him say something like that drove home just how different we really are.

Maybe I shouldn't feel resentful about that, though. I know that the main reason I feel like that is because of Teresa, and it's more of a selfish instinct than it might sound. After she died I went through hell, not least because I was afraid that I could have done something to stop it, should have been more observant. I should have noticed that something was wrong, and taken the gunman down before he'd even opened fire. I was a trained Navy SEAL for God's sake! But I didn't, I was sloppy, and Teresa and four of my closest friends died because of it. Because of me.

Ever since then, the safety of others has been something of an obsession with me. With the SEALs I did so many stupid things, going on what should have been suicide missions to rescue a friend, simply because I couldn't bear the idea of living if I hadn't tried to help.

The Navy shrinks thought I had a death wish, was trying to kill myself so I wouldn't have to live with the grief, but it was more than that. I just couldn't bear the thought of having to go through a friend's death again. If something like that had to happen again, then at least this way I'd know that I'd done everything I could. I think I'm in the wrong job to have feelings like this.

But can I really blame Sam if he doesn't feel this way? Just because he's been lucky enough not to suffer such a personal loss - of course I'm assuming this, Sam hasn't even come close to telling me about his past - should I expect him to act the same way as me through some kind of personal honour? I wouldn't wish these feelings on anyone, and I certainly don't have the right to expect Sam, or anyone else, for that matter, to put my safety above their own.

Anyway, I'm waffling. Where was I? Oh yeah, the body bag comment. If I'm right, and our friendship doesn't mean much to Sam at all, then that actually makes some kind of sense. His guard must have slipped and he dropped the pretence of a friendship for a second. And what was left?

Contempt.

He's right, I am gung-ho, I do rush in without thinking, and I'm certainly not as professional an agent as he is. Jesus, I've nearly got him blown up twice already. Why shouldn't he feel contempt for me? I endanger his life every single day that we work together.

There's only one thing I can do - apart from asking for a re-teaming, that is, and publicly admitting my failures in front of the whole squad is something I just can't bring myself to do. See? Yet another failure. I'll have to emulate Sam. Learn from him.

Detach myself from everyone else, stop allowing my emotions to get in the way of my work, and become as professional and textbook perfect as Sam is. Even if I do have to take on the same kind of cold mask that he wears in order to do it.

The decision finally made, I pull myself away from my perch by the window and head slowly back to bed. I know what I need to do, and I've already committed myself to following it through even in these few seconds. The relief I feel in having finally decided on something is a nice change, and is enough to give me the energy to cross my apartment, at least.

I've got one more day off before I'm back at work, and the new Chris Keel has to be flawlessly in place by then, otherwise there's no way I'll be able to work with Sam again. So I've got a lot of preparations to make, and one day to make them.

The rest of the energy I'll need to face tomorrow I should get from the few hours sleep there are left until morning. As long as I don't have any more nightmares.

So why does part of me feel worse than ever?

~*~ *~

The morning comes without any more problems, and even though I got little sleep last night, I'm up and dressed before my alarm goes off. I have a lot to do today.

Constructing the new me is almost like I'm going undercover, playing a role, and I've done that enough times to know that preparation is the key to success.

In order to become as professional an agent as Sam, in a sense I have to be Sam, and that means emulating him in every way. Every single aspect of my life has to conform to the same high standards that I will bring to my job. I have to be the professional, unemotional CI5 agent twenty-four hours a day.

So the first thing that I have to do is tidy my flat. I'm determined that by the time I'm finished there won't be a thing out of place - it'll look like something out of one of those house-decorating shows that are all the rage over here at the moment. Part of me is also well aware that that'll give the place an un-lived in look, something that I've always hated about those shows, but I ignore the voice. Emotional attachment - even to inanimate objects - is something that I can no longer allow myself to form.

Clearing up the flat takes most of the morning, and I spend most of it clearing out cupboards and drawers. After that I hoover and polish, and by the time I stop for lunch every single room is absolutely spotless.

I had toyed with the idea of simply hiring a cleaner to do that side of things, but dismissed it fairly quickly. It's not so much the fact that the apartment is tidy that is important, but the fact that I have tidied it. Somehow, the act of clearing away the bits and pieces that are just lying around helps me to clear my mind at the same time, and when I'm finished almost every single surface is clear.

The only things that I can't bring myself to put away are the photos of my wedding day. As much as I know that I should put them in a box and store them away with everything else, I just can't do it. Instead, I compromise by gathering all the frames together and arranging them on my bedside table into a neat collection of pictures.

Finally satisfied, I head into the newly cleaned kitchen to make lunch. Of course, I can't do that, since the only food in my kitchen is instantly microwaveable junk. Determined that this change in me is going to encompass everything, I pick up my keys and head with forced enthusiasm to the supermarket.

It's not that I can't cook, I just don't enjoy it. And since I don't enjoy it, I stay as far away from supermarkets as I can, and just eat whatever I can throw together in fifteen minutes or less. But if all that is about to change, then I'm going to have to get some ingredients in that I can cook with, since that is something my kitchen is sorely lacking.

Halfway to the supermarket I change direction, and head into the centre of town instead. Part of the veneer of the professional agent is what you wear, and while I dress relatively smartly, I don't match up to Sam's immaculately coiffed veneer by any stretch of the imagination. So some clothes shopping is in order. Having said that, I don't actually agree with Sam's tendency to wear designer clothes to work every day. In our line of work, if an outfit survives two months without being torn or having blood splattered over it then we're exceedingly lucky, and buying designer clothes to replace them every time is simply throwing good money after bad in my opinion.

Having said that, I don't think that the T-shirts and jumpers I generally wear to work quite match up with my new image either, so I compromise, and spend the next hour or two buying relatively smart shirts from a variety of shops. I don't quite go so far as to buy ties to match them, but again that's more for practicality's sake. Wearing a tie is practically an invitation for someone to try and strangle you with it, so I feel perfectly justified in not giving in to the salesman's encouragement. Besides, I hate ties.

After I decide that I've probably bought enough shirts to last me till I retire, I head back to the supermarket and buy all manner of ingredients before finally heading home.

I'm hardly surprised to find two messages on my answer machine when I get home. One from Backup, a discreet check on me barely concealed by the information that my new mobile phone will be waiting for me when I return to work in the morning, and the other, perhaps inevitably, is Sam, just letting me know that he's out of the hospital and was thinking about popping round later in the evening.

I don't reply to either, too busy packing shopping away to bother. The only thing I do is put my keys in the lock on the inside. Sam has a key to my apartment, and I wouldn't put it past him to let himself in if he knocks this evening and I don't answer. But with my keys already in the lock on the other side, I'm well aware that if he does try that, his keys won't work.

I cook myself a lasagna, allowing myself to relax on the sofa with the TV remote and a glass of wine as I'm waiting for it to finish in the oven.

Surprisingly enough, I'm actually feeling quite calm about the prospect of going back to work and facing everyone in the morning. After all, it's not as if anything's happened publicly between me and Sam, so it should just be business as usual as far as everyone else is concerned. In theory at least, I should be the only one aware that anything has changed. Backup is the only one I'm a little uneasy over, especially after our phone conversation the day before, but I hope I can trust her to be discreet enough to say nothing.

As for Sam, I know he'll notice the changes, but surely he'll be pleased? At least now he'll no longer be saddled with a liability for a partner.

The afternoon passes quietly into evening, and I pass the time by simply pottering through my apartment, watching TV, taking a shower, just doing little things as I adjust to my new role. I even go as far as changing clothes, swapping my jumper for a black shirt, for no other reason than to get used to the feel of it.

The doorbell, when it goes, surprises me out of my quiet pottering, and as it rings for a second time I debate whether or not to answer it. A key scraping the lock outside tells me that it's Sam without even having to check, and I wait quietly for a few minutes until I hear footsteps walk away from my door.

It's only then that I realise how obvious it is that I'm at home. The soft music playing on my stereo is probably just loud enough to be heard, all the lights are on, and even if Sam ignored my car parked at the front gate, the fact that my door keys are in the lock (and I know Sam well enough to be sure that he'd notice) is a dead give-away.

Sighing quietly I open the door and call down the stairs to Sam. I'm going to be working with him from tomorrow morning anyway, it might not be a bad idea to face him for the first time one-on-one, without the rest of CI5 milling about.

He jogs back up the stairs, his face breaking into a smile as he sees me at the door.

"I didn't think you were in," he says, adding one more lie to the hundreds he's already told.

I smile back, hoping that it's convincing enough to pass inspection and adding my lie to the pile. "Sorry, I was in the bathroom."

Sam nods as I hold the door open and gesture for him to come inside. He walks through the door, takes three paces and stops dead.

"Jesus, Chris! You've been busy lately! Have you had people to stay or something?"

I laugh. "Nah. Got sick of living like a slob."

Sam grins back at me and wanders into the kitchen. "Finally decided to take my advice then, did you?"

The smile falters a little, but since Sam has his nose buried in the fridge looking for food, he doesn't notice. He straightens up a few minutes later holding the open bottle of wine in his hand.

"This is a surprise, I'm usually lucky if you have anything at all in the kitchen, let alone a stocked fridge and a bottle of wine."

I fetch him a glass, and we both settle down on the sofa.

As I pour the wine and hand it over, I get my first close up look at the damage done to his throat.

The bruising is dark and ugly, and there's a red line of grazed flesh where the rope obviously was, but it's not as bad as I thought it might be, which despite all my intentions still fills me with relief. But I'm not that worried - at this stage it doesn't really matter whether I feel the emotional connection or not - just as long as I don't show them. I'm quite certain that the longer I act as if they're not there, then the less I'll be troubled by them.

We spend a few hours just talking and watching the television, flicking vainly through the channels in an attempt to find something worth watching. We don't talk about much, though, just superficial stuff, and at times the atmosphere between us is as strained as I was afraid it would be.

When he thinks that I'm not looking, Sam keeps throwing curious - if I didn't know better I'd think they were worried - glances in my direction, but I pretend that I don't see them and he doesn't call me on it. Even so, this new façade is wearing thin.

I'm just debating whether or not to make up a date with Kirstie just for an excuse to make him leave when Sam solves the problem for me.

"Listen, Chris. I'd better go. I promised Backup I'd look in on HQ some time tonight - she and Spence are interrogating Skinner, and she thought my presence might help."

He stands up and reaches for his coat, and I walk to the door with him, trying not to look too relieved.

"Oh, OK. Are you back on duty tomorrow?"

"Yep."

"I'll see you in the morning, then."

With that Sam leaves, and I shut the door with a mixture of regret and relief. If anything at all is obvious from the last couple of hours, it's that Sam and I have lost the easy camaraderie that we used to have. And I miss it already. Even though I now know that the whole thing was just an act on Sam's behalf, I still miss it.

Whoever said ignorance is bliss had a point.

~*~ *~

 **One Week Later  
Backup**

I'm working away at my terminal as normal, even though this isn't exactly a normal day. Malone's been back for less than four hours, and already he's managed to add even more tension to the office - for more than one reason. Apart from anything else, we're all well aware that something's got between Sam and Chris in the past few days, though no-one, including Sam by all accounts, has the faintest idea what that is.

Sam and Chris have both been back at work for the last week, and it's now blindingly obvious to anyone with half a brain that something is seriously wrong between them. At first, I think I was the only one who noticed, and so did Sam, of course, but I guess neither of us wanted to face it, and it was still just a feeling, nothing specific - so it was all too easy to convince ourselves that it was just our imagination.

But within days Sam and Chris were the topic of conversation for just about everyone, and I couldn't ignore it any more. Chris has changed, drastically changed, and no-one can work out why.

Ever since he came back from sick leave he's been different. At first I put it down to the concussion - short tempers are common round here when recovering from something like that. But the change went deeper than just a short temper. The way he dresses, his attitude towards work and his social life, it's as if he's undergone some kind of personality overhaul. If I didn't know better, I could almost convince myself that that wasn't Chris at all.

For one thing he's much quieter. He doesn't engage with the office gossip as much as he used to, and CI5 is a more subdued place for it. Since he joined CI5, the wry comments he'd make about the orders that we had and the paperwork that we're all forced to struggle through had become as much a part of daily life as the computers, and now that he's stopped making them, their absence is painfully clear. Instead, he's applying himself to the paperwork as if it's his favourite part of the job, without even the slightest complaint.

He barely speaks unless he's spoken to, and even then, unless it's something to do with an assignment then you're lucky if you get a one word answer. I've heard a few people comment on it over the past few days, and the opinion of the majority is that working with Sam for going on six months has finally got to him. It's funny, until I heard that I hadn't even connected the two, but they're right. Chris is acting more and more like Sam every single day, and it's strange, because that behaviour doesn't suit him. Every so often someone will crack a joke, and he'll go to respond, then just go quiet and say nothing. It's almost as if he's forcing himself to act like this.

God alone knows why.

Curiosity or not, none of us have the right to confront Chris in order to find out, but Malone is a different story. The instant he notices this atmosphere between them, he'll just demand to know what's causing it, and bar resigning, Chris won't have much of a choice but to tell him.

I'm not sure whether that's good or bad.

As for the other reason he's added tension, I'm the only one who knows about that so far, but it doesn't take a genius to work out what's going to happen when Chris finds out. This piece of bad news alone is going to be enough to upset him, even if he isn't already brooding about something.

Malone's given orders for Chris to be sent in to see him as soon as he and Sam appear, and the waiting is proving enough to distract me from what I'm supposed to be doing. Not that that's anything interesting, if I'm honest.

In spite of the fact that I don't really envy Sam and Chris' job, considering how often it seems to land them in hospital, there are times when I get sick of sitting in a room full of computers all day. I could have gone and worked in any kind of office if I'd wanted to do that. For more money, as well.

Still, I get my fair share of the action, I suppose, and it does mean something to me that I'm making a difference, however corny that may sound.

Ah, here we go.

Chris and Sam walk through into the office. Is it my imagination, or has the temperature just dropped? Certainly, people have gone quiet, and suddenly found their various terminals much more interesting than usual.

I'm not exaggerating this, but a lot of people in this organisation take their lead from Curtis and Keel. Not only are they respected, but together they've got this amazing ability to cheer people up, this kind of double act which makes them the life and soul of the party, even when there's not supposed to be a party in the first place.

Of course, on the rare occasions when they're not getting along, they have the exact opposite effect. The first few months of their partnership were a nightmare. Chris didn't trust Sam, and Sam didn't trust anyone, and everyone else picked up on it. As a result, HQ was more depressed than usual, people were snapping at each other, and the whole place was awful to work in. Unfortunately, since Chris came back from sick leave, things seem to be falling apart all over again.

Sam starts heading over to his desk, and the silence between the two of them is deafening, but he stops as soon as I call out.

"Chris, Malone wants to see you."

They both head straight towards the office, which is unusual in itself. Normally Chris hangs around talking to me for a couple of minutes, keeping Malone waiting just to make the point that he isn't going to jump through hoops for anyone. But recently he's been acting like the consummate professional. He's stopped answering back to Malone, spends hours poring over paperwork like it's what he was born to do, and all the humour is gone.

"No, Sam. Not you."

They both stop and glance back.

"It's just Chris he wants to see."

As Chris goes into Malone's office, Sam comes over to me, looking confused.

"What's that all about?"

I shake my head. "Sorry, Sam. Malone's orders. No-one else is to know until Chris has been told."

Sam sighs. "I'll assume that means it's not good news, then."

"Afraid not."

"Terrific. Chris is in enough of a mood as it is."

I turn away from my console and devote all my attention to Sam. "Are things no better between you?"

"Nah. If anything they've got worse." He sighs, and for a second I can see the frustration in his eyes before the mask slips back into place. "I just don't know what's got into him, Backup. I mean, if I've done something wrong, why won't he tell me what it is?"

There's not a whole lot I can say to that. Getting up from my chair, I lay a hand on Sam's shoulder as I head over to the coffee machine. I think we could both use some caffeine.

The machine is just next to Malone's office, and I can hear the voices through the partitioning even before I've reached it. Though considering Chris' voice is getting louder and more agitated every second, most of the office can probably hear it, even if they're not quite close enough to work out what's being said.

As close as I am, I can only hear the odd word, though considering I know what they're discussing, it's not difficult to fill in the rest of Chris' reactions. I was furious when Malone told me. Considering I wasn't even the one involved, at least not directly, I think it's fair to say that Chris would feel the same as me - though probably a hundred times more so.

I end up getting three coffees. However much of a pain Chris has been to work lately, I'm worried about him. He's normally so bouncy, and it takes an awful lot to get him down. Whatever it is that's eating away at him, he's hurting - and to someone who really knows him, that's just as obvious as the anger. I'm afraid that what Malone is telling him now might just be the last straw.

I just wish he'd talk to someone. Not necessarily me, for all I know it could be me he's angry at, though I have to agree with everyone else here and think that it's probably Sam. Sometimes he's too much like his partner for his own good.

Walking back across the room, trying to ignore the curious stares from the others, who are all looking past me into Malone's office, I put the coffees down on the table before handing one to Sam.

"Here."

He just about manages a smile. "Thanks, Backup."

The door to Malone's office opens suddenly, and I pick up Chris' coffee and walk towards it. Unfortunately, even as the door slams back into the wall and shudders under the impact, Chris storms out, and without a word brushes straight past me - or should that be through me - and the coffee goes everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. Even as I'm still registering the fact that I'm standing in the middle of the Ops room covered in coffee, and hot coffee at that, Sam goes past me after his partner, obviously angry.

"Chris! What the hell are you..."

But he doesn't finish his sentence. Reaching the door, Chris whirls round to face Sam, and just for a second I can almost see the dark clouds circling above his head. I don't think I've ever seen him so angry. The façade of the professional CI5 agent he's been constructing over the past few days is well and truly gone.

Sam obviously hadn't expected Chris to stop so suddenly, and he has to brake sharply, coming to a stop mere inches away from his partner. I've almost forgotten the fact that I'm dripping wet, I'm so amazed at what I'm seeing. Chris tenses up when he realises how close Sam is, and for a second I'm sure he's about to lash out.

Sam obviously realises it too, because he backs off slightly.

For a second they stare at each other, and everyone else stares at them. Then Chris raises a hand, and jabs his finger into Sam's chest, forcing Sam to step back even further.

"Get. Away. From. Me." His voice is quiet now, a stark contrast to the loud outburst we could hear in Malone's office, but it's trembling, as if he's having trouble staying in control of something. Anger? Pain? I've got no idea, but I don't like it.

Tearing his eyes away from Sam, Chris glances into the room for a second, and is obviously greeted by the dumbfounded stares of the rest of us.

"Chris..." It's Sam speaking, but his voice is softer, quiet, and obviously uncertain.

Without looking back at Sam, Chris throws one final glance at me and then turns and flees the room, almost at a dead run.

I'm sure that Sam's about to go after him, even though he doesn't move forward. It's a slight tensing of the shoulders, I think. All I know is that that's a really bad idea. Their partnership is hanging by a thread, that much is obvious, and unless Chris calms down, and soon, this is going to end with a fist fight and a re-teaming.

"Sam!" He turns back to me. "Don't. Leave him be."

For a second Sam looks as if he's going to argue, and then it's as if all the fight has gone out of him, and he visibly deflates, walking slowly back towards me with a openly hurt expression on his face. Which changes suddenly, and the mask snaps firmly back into place. It's only then that I notice, as Sam obviously has, that Malone is standing quietly in the doorway of his office. I've got no idea how long he's been standing there, but I mentally prepare myself for a lecture, and see Sam wincing as he obviously expects the same thing.

We're both surprised.

No-one says anything for a minute, and then Malone speaks, calling out to Spence, who is standing in the middle of Ops, staring at Sam and looking just as shocked as everyone else. Me included, I suspect.

"Mr. Spencer, I need the Bolton report as soon as possible, please."

A nice, subtle comment that gets everyone scurrying back to work, and Malone goes up in my estimation. The man has some degree of tact, after all.

Then Malone turns his gaze on me. "You might want to get changed, Miss Backus," he comments, and I nod, well aware that the coffee has soaked me to the skin.

"Yes, sir."

Then he turns to Sam, and I'm sure he's about to order him into his office to explain what's going on.

Again, he surprises me.

For a second they look at each other, then Malone simply says, very quietly, "I believe your coffee is getting cold, Mr. Curtis," thereby making us all aware that he saw the whole thing, and then goes back into his office and shuts the door gently.

Sam collapses wearily into the nearest seat, and runs his hands down his face before reaching for the now lukewarm coffee. I head off to change into my spare clothes, which I keep at the office thank god, but even as I leave the room I'm painfully aware that, with the exception of the noises the computers make, the room is deathly quiet.

No-one is saying a word.

~*~ *~

 **Chris**

I storm out of the building, ignoring the greetings of the guy running security at the door, and simply keep walking.

My hands are shaking, and all my attempts at remaining the consummate professional no matter what happens have gone completely out of the window at Malone's news.

No matter what the case at Richmond has cost me in terms of friendship and peace of mind, there was one thing that I was able to draw comfort from. The fact that we'd managed to catch the bastards responsible has always been a comfort - no matter what happened, I did my job, and the good guys won.

Only we didn't.

Thanks to the political wrangling of the FBI, both Matthew and the lovely Doctor Shephard have walked away scot-free.

Malone got the news this morning, apparently, though if I'd had any sense at all, I should have seen it coming a mile off. After all, it stands to reason that if they were trying to cover up Peter Morgan's death, then why should my abduction be any different?

According to Malone, the Attorney-General's Office has decided that there wasn't enough evidence to prosecute. Because the FBI was so determined to cover up the whole organ donor scam to protect some Senator, they can't allow me to testify at all. It stands to reason I suppose, since as soon as I get on the stand and am asked what particular reason Hall had for wanting me dead, I'm going to start talking about organ extraction and going undercover to stop them.

Which is exactly what the FBI has refused to allow me to do.

Conveniently, the case they submitted to the Attorney General's office had nothing whatsoever in it about organ extraction, which removes all motive for my abduction.

And since no-one saw them snatch me, and no-one saw me escape, it's just my word against theirs. Apparently, without a motive, my word doesn't count for shit. So they've walked out of jail scot-free.

All our efforts, everything that happened, was for nothing.

I lost my best friend for absolutely nothing.

It makes me sick.

I hate this job.

Exactly what this whole business has cost slowly dawns on me as what I've just done sinks in.

Fuck.

Throwing coffee all over Backup and yelling at Sam in front of the whole team is hardly the actions of a calm, professional CI5 agent, is it? I know damn well that most of the squad has noticed that things are strained between Sam and I by now, I've heard the gossip when they don't think I'm around. But even if they hadn't noticed, I've just handed the office grapevine enough ammunition to keep this topic of conversation going for months.

Standing on the bridge over the Thames, I lean heavily on the railings and rest my forehead down on the cold iron as I take a deep breath and try to think.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

Despite all of my good intentions, subconsciously I seem to be intent on self-destructing in the most spectacular way possible.

Maybe resigning would be the best solution for all concerned. But even the thought of leaving CI5 makes my stomach turn. I mean, what would I do instead? I burned all my bridges with the Navy in the final op before I transferred to CI5, so I can't go back there.

I stare down into the water, wishing that I could come up with an easy solution. On a basic level I'm happy here, regardless of what is going on between me and Sam. I don't want to leave, but I'm fast running out of options.

I don't know how long I spend on the bridge, staring blindly out at the water for inspiration, when my mobile starts to ring.

I pull it out of my pocket and glance down at the display. It's HQ, but there's no way of telling exactly who is on the end of the line. Idly wondering whether Malone is about to make my decision for me and fire me, I answer the call.

It's Backup. She sounds a little nervous, and a little annoyed all at the same time. "Hey, Chris. Sorry to interrupt, but we've got a situation here. You're needed."

A small grin forms as her words remind me of The Avenger's call to arms. I just wish that things were as simple in real life as they are on TV. I start walking back towards HQ as I answer.

"I'm on my way." I hesitate for a second, but decide to carry on speaking just before she starts to hang up. "And Backup...I'm sorry about the coffee."

There's a surprised silence at the other end of the phone before she replies. "Apology accepted. But...I don't think I'm the only one who needs an apology."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks Tina."

"No problem. See you in a minute, Chris."

With that she hangs up, and I feel a little better - maybe that's all I need to do. Apologise to Sam for yelling, use Malone's news as an excuse and things will be back to normal. Well, as normal as they're ever going to get, anyway.

The decision made, I pick up my pace and jog back to HQ. It sounds like something big is brewing.

~*~ *~

 **Sam**

I see Chris coming back into the room out of the corner of my eye, but don't go over to him. I'm not ignoring him, though I'm not altogether sure what response I'd get if I did go over to him, but I'm busy listening to Malone.

It's the usual thing, Malone comes out of his office to inform us what mission we're going on this time, and half the squad stop to listen, even though what he's saying only actually applies to four of us.

Not that I'm particularly bothered, at least if they're talking about this new mission then they won't be talking about me and Chris.

Anyway, back to Malone. He hasn't actually got to anything interesting yet, simply assigning some of the smaller investigations that we've got going on to the other agents. It's only when he directly addresses me that my interest deepens.

"Mr. Curtis, Keel, Spencer, Miss Backus - my office please."

With that he walks back to his office without another word, simply taking for granted that we're all going to follow him. Which, of course, we do. Even Chris.

When he first mentioned Chris and I, I thought we were about to be hauled over the coals for that little display earlier, but it can't be that. Not with Spencer and Backup here as well.

We all stand in a line in front of Malone, saying nothing as he sits back down behind his desk and adjusts his jacket.

"New assignment, people." He begins. "Turner and Jamieson have been interrogating Bolton, and it appears things are a little more serious than we first believed."

At Bolton's name I can't help myself tensing. I haven't seen either him or his weasel of a sidekick since the warehouse, and wouldn't mind having a quiet word with them both. Unfortunately, that's not something that's likely to happen now that they're firmly in custody. There are definite drawbacks to being with the good guys.

"Apparently, Bolton is more than simply an arms smuggler. While that is certainly what constitutes the majority of his work, Turner informs me that the man has also admitted to selling secrets."

"What kind of secrets, Sir?"

"Plans, Miss. Backus. It seems that he managed to acquire the plans for a certain Government building, which he has since sold to a group of mercenaries for hire."

At this point, I speak up. "Why would mercenaries want plans for a Government building?"

"This particular set of offices holds information about our plans for weapons disarmament. Nothing particularly vital, minutes of meetings, conference outlines, that sort of thing. But given to the right foreign country, that information could put our Government at a serious disadvantage in weapons negotiations. Bolton isn't high enough to know all the details, but he thinks that this group has been paid to steal the information, and then pass it on to a third party."

"And we don't know which party?"

"Not yet, Miss Backus. But that's not vitally important, since you four are going to stop the plans from being stolen in the first place."

~*~ *~

 **Sam**

A secret Government building in the heart of suburban London - it seems ridiculous to me, but then I guess we can't spend all our time prowling around derelict warehouses.

Typical bureaucracy though, storing highly sensitive information in what's little more than a row of converted houses, and then disregarding security altogether in the mistaken belief that it will 'raise suspicions.'

And CI5 are always the ones that are expected to clear up when the policy flaws show up. Still, this shouldn't be the hardest assignment we've ever been on.

The information is all held on disks on the first floor of the offices, so I suppose that's something - whoever is sent here to steal them is going to have to exert themselves a little harder than just breaking the right window and climbing into the right room first time.

After a little 'persuasion', Bolton revealed that he thinks the raid is going to go down tonight, which is why we're all here dressed in black combat gear, prowling round the grounds when I think I would have preferred to be in bed. And if the Minister had seen sense then I could have been - if they'd taken Malone's advice and simply swapped the disks for fakes then rounding up the would-be burglars could have been left to the local Police. But apparently moving the disks would then involve finding somewhere else to store them, which all involves unnecessary time and expense with CI5 around to save the day.

We started off in the Records Room, making sure that we all knew exactly what they were going to be looking for, and then spread out, taking up separate positions all around the house to ensure maximum coverage.

There's an outdoor fire escape that opens onto the second floor of the building, so I'm patrolling that floor, while Backup's on the second floor, and Chris is keeping a watch outside. Spencer is in a nondescript car about three hundred yards up the road. About the only thing going for us at the moment is the fact that this building is in a cul-de-sac, and there is only one entrance by road.

Malone's instructions are to catch them in the act; apparently, since we're in a residential area it's going to be harder to prove that they weren't just visiting the next door neighbours than it would be if this were a high-security installation. So Spencer isn't going to make any attempts to stop them, simply alert us whenever anything goes past him.

Chris seems to have called an uneasy truce between us - since he apologised for his outburst in the Ops Room, he's stopped making the snide comments that have been coming steadily at me for the past few days. I know things aren't right between us, but I'm loath to say anything, particularly now. The last thing we need is to be sniping at each other down a headset fifteen minutes before our position is attacked. I still don't know what I'm supposed to have done, and if I'm honest, I'm not sure I want to know.

I'm also well aware that I should be keeping my mind on the job, but we've been here for three hours, I'm cold, and bored, and my thoughts are beginning to wander. Still, I think Chris drew the short straw on this occasion, since he's outside and it's at least five degrees colder there than it is in the building itself.

If anything, this evening's mission is making it even clearer that Chris has changed. Usually he'd be even more bored than I am; hell, he probably is, but he'd have been displaying that boredom for at least the last hour, humming into his microphone, and generally making small talk. Oh, when the time came for action he'd be as prepared and as able as anyone else, he'd just have been making idle comments beforehand.

Tonight? He's quiet as the grave. I've even called him myself a couple of times, simply making sure that he's still there. All I got in reply was a growled: "Radio silence, Curtis" - perfectly correct behaviour, just nothing like my partner. It's a subtle distinction, but to someone who knows Chris like I do, it speaks volumes.

The radio crackles into life, and I focus all my attention back onto the job at hand.

"Heads up, guys." Spencer's soft tones sound in my ear. "We've got a van pulling into the street, and I think it's a little late for visitors."

A van? I can't help a chuckle - they're not exactly being discreet, but then again, there isn't supposed to be anyone here at midnight.

To be honest, I'm quite surprised that they came at all. By all accounts, Bolton was making it sound like he and these people were close colleagues, so surely they must have known he'd been arrested. They must be seriously bloody sure of themselves if they came anyway, at the very least suspecting that we knew about the raid.

"They're out of my sight, guys. It's over to you."

The cul-de-sac splits off in two directions, and we're right down at one end. We all knew that Spencer would lose sight of them before they reached us, but he needs to stay hidden in case something goes wrong. Besides, a man sitting in a car, on his own in the middle of the night would have been too obvious if he'd parked much closer.

I'm standing by a window on the second floor, carefully out of sight when the van pulls up a few doors down from us. I can't see Chris from where I'm positioned, but he's supposed to be letting them get inside before making a move, so I'm not overly concerned. Even so, I find myself breathing a quiet sigh of relief when his voice comes over the crackling line.

"There's four of them." His voice is barely louder than a whisper - we're all aware of how far sound can travel in the dead of night. "Two picking the lock on the front door, and the others have split up and headed round the back."

"Understood."

Even as I answer Chris' message, I can hear the faint sound of boots on metal as someone starts climbing up the fire escape. At the sound of breaking glass I edge round to the outside door, and look just far enough out to see a dark figure disappearing into the fire exit of the door below.

"5.3 - At least one is on the first floor."

After giving him enough time to have moved far enough away from the fire escape, I swing on to the iron staircase and begin moving down it.

As I'm heading for the first floor entrance I shoot a quick glance around me, and think I can see Chris moving slowly across the front lawn towards the main door. Well, it's a figure dressed in black, so I'm assuming it's Chris. The men I saw coming from the van were all in standard combats - useful in the jungle, perhaps, but a little more conspicuous on a suburban street.

Flattening myself against the brick wall, I look carefully around the corner into the darkened corridor, and am only just in time to swing back out of reach of the rifle that's heading in my direction. At the same time as I'm pulling clear I'm already reaching for the muzzle, and I grab hold of it before he can recover and swing it at me again.

He lashes out with his free hand and catches me on the shoulder, but I keep my grip on the gun, stepping closer and putting my back to him a second before I twist and throw him over my shoulder. He lets go of the weapon with a cry and goes clattering down the staircase, landing in a crumpled heap on the wet grass.

I follow him down the stairs, and when he doesn't move, cuff him to the railings. He'll do there for now.

Even as I'm snapping the second cuff closed, there's a muffled bang behind me, coming from inside the building. Abandoning my captive to the cold for a while, I race back up the stairs, forgetting my previous attempts at caution. By now it's obvious that they know we're here, and we've lost the element of surprise.

Reaching the doorway, I hesitate for a second on seeing smoke weave its way down the corridor towards me. The faint sound of coughing reaches me over the headphones, and I head into the smoke, trying to remember the way to the Records Room when I can't see.

"5.3? Come in 5.3."

There's no answer, but the coughing is getting louder, and I spin round when someone comes towards me, slamming the figure into the wall.

"Sam! Sam, it's me." It's Backup's voice, hoarse from the smoke, and I release my hold on her as she keeps talking. "Smoke bomb. They've got the disks."

"Shit." I turn my attention to my headset. "4.5? Come in 4.5. Hostiles are making their escape. Repeat, hostiles are making their escape."

~*~ *~

 **Chris**

I didn't follow them in when I went inside. Since Malone wanted to catch them in the act of stealing the disks, we'd agreed that none of us would attack once they'd got inside the house, but simply move into position and wait for Backup's signal.

Unfortunately, we didn't get the chance.

I'd only just started to move from my hiding place when something fell down the fire escape at the far end of the building, so it was obvious that things were already going wrong.

The clattering echoed through the night, and seconds later lights began to come on in the surrounding houses.

Fuck. The last thing we need is civilians getting involved.

Sam's frantic message comes over the headset just as I reach the pathway at the front of the building. I never did like these headsets. His words are just enough of a distraction that I don't immediately register the crunch of footsteps on frosted grass. It takes me an extra second to work out what the noise is, and to realise that they're not my footsteps.

A shape looms out of the darkness to my left and swings something at my head.

The lights go out.

~*~ *~

 **Sam**

Chris hasn't answered me, and I'm already racing down the main stairwell as I try again. "Come in 4.5. Chris!"

Still recovering from the effects of the smoke bomb, Backup drops a second or two behind me. Thankfully, she's keeping her head, and even as we hear the screech of tires as the van speeds off, she's already yelling at Spencer to follow them and find out where they're going.

I keep calling out to Chris as I run, but he still doesn't respond.

~*~ *~

 **Chris**

I'm awake.

I am.

I'm not sleeping, honest.

I do, however, have a fucker of a headache, so the fact that I don't know where I am is immaterial - this is not turning into a good day.

Unfortunately, not only am I alone, (when given a choice, I like to wake up with someone next to me,) but I'm not even in bed. Call me old fashioned, but I do prefer to sleep somewhere at least vaguely comfortable.

Outside in the dark, on the edge of a concrete path, does not fit in to my idea of comfort.

What the fuck just happened?

It's the sudden onslaught of déjà-vu that forces me to wake up completely. I've been here before, recently, and I don't like it.

Images of being chased through the forest by two figures in long coats flood my mind for a minute, and I struggle to separate the past that's been haunting me from more recent events. It's only as I roll over and take in the buildings around me that I realise I'm not in Richmond any more, and no-one is chasing me for my kidneys. But considering I've got blood streaming down the side of my face and the ground is moving like I'm on the high seas, this knowledge doesn't really make me feel much better.

The pain that shoots through my head as I move makes me wince, but I struggle to my feet, leaning heavily on a nearby fence post as I try and stay upright. It's only once I finally risk letting go and try - somewhat unsuccessfully -to walk in a straight line that a blurry figure appears in front of me. My heart sinks, and I know damn well that if this is whoever attacked me coming back to finish the job, there's not a whole lot I can do about it, since I'm expending all of my energy in just standing.

My head spins even more as Sam's voice echoes through my head.

"Chris? Oh, Jesus. Chris!"

Part of me relaxes, obviously my assailant is long gone, but another part of me tenses. Here we go again. Another chance for Sam to demonstrate just how little our friendship means to him.

Sam steps closer and grabs hold of my elbow, supporting me until the world stops turning faster than it's supposed to. Finally I manage to stand on my own, and push away from his support as quickly as I can. Not to be put off, Sam fishes a pristine handkerchief out of his pocket and presses it gently against my head, starting to clean away the drying blood. But even after what's happened, his mock concern still hurts more than the blow did, and I take the handkerchief out of his hand, preferring to do it myself.

Again, I see the confusion in his eyes before he snaps back to professional mode, and again I ignore it.

"Are you alright?"

"Do I look alright?"

Stunned silence for a minute, and then: "I'm sorry I asked."

Backup jogs out of the main door and over to us, tutting when she sees the blood.

"Come here," she says brusquely, taking the handkerchief from my hand and propelling me over to a low wall, which I sit down on gratefully.

I can see Sam watching us with a frown, and it's perfectly obvious that I'm going to allow Backup to do exactly what I wouldn't let him. The world lurches round me again and I lean forward and put my head down, taking a few deep breaths until the world stills.

"What happened?" Sam asks, his tone curt and angry.

"I made a mistake," I snap back, changing the subject before Sam has the opportunity to get into that one. "Someone had better call Malone."

Sam stares at me for a second longer before sighing and walking back towards the other end of the building and the fire escape without another word. Backup watches him go, and then turns her attention back to me. For a moment I think she's going to call me on my behaviour, picking a perfect time to do so, but she simply picks up the main power pack for her headset and starts to switch frequencies, making one final comment before requesting Sunray.

"Malone is going to go insane."

~*~ *~

Within an hour, the three of us are lined up in Malone's office all over again, but this time the atmosphere is decidedly more frosty.

"A simple request. All you had to do was stand guard over a computer disk - even the local police force could have done it with their eyes closed! And the three of you behave like a bunch of amateurs on their first mission! Exactly what am I supposed to tell the Minister now, when I assured her that we would be more than capable of handling the job? It doesn't exactly inspire confidence in our organisation, does it."

That's probably not a rhetorical question, but there is no way in hell I'm going to answer it. Sam and Backup have obviously made the same decision, because none of say a word, content to stand to attention in a perfectly straight line.

About the only thing I can do at the moment is wish I was Spencer. Apart from the fact that he was removed from all the action, and so none of this is his fault, he's not even in the building. He dutifully followed the van when it sped away with its prize, and even now is tracking it across the city, trying to find out where the disks are being taken to.

Which, apart from anything else, means that he's managed to avoid being subjected to Malone's latest rant. Not that it's unjustified. This time we did screw up - big time.

Malone is still pacing round his office - you can almost see the steam rising from his ears. Finally he turns to face us again, and all three of us straighten up even further.

"I suppose it's too much to ask for an explanation as to exactly what went wrong?"

I sigh quietly. Here goes nothing. "I made a mistake, sir."

Malone turns to me, eyebrows raised. "Oh? And what mistake did you make, Mr. Keel?"

"I let one of them jump me, sir. I should have been more careful."

Malone thought for a moment before nodding. "Perhaps. But as I understand it, they had already obtained the disk and were making their way out of the building before you were hit. Regardless of whether or not you should have 'been more careful', I don't see how this whole mess can be placed just at your door."

There's not a whole lot that I can say to that, but I must admit, in a perverse way I'm quite pleased with what Malone has just said. With everything that's been happening over the past week or so, part of me was expecting him to agree, say it had taken me long enough to realise I was a waste of space and then kick me out. Irrational, perhaps, but the fear was there all the same.

Malone sighs and sits back down at his desk. "I want all of your reports on my desk by midday tomorrow, after which there'll be a briefing, to try and ensure that this kind of fiasco doesn't happen again."

There's a very hesitant knock at the door, and Richards comes in, looking nervous. I can't say I blame him - if there's one thing Malone doesn't appreciate, it's being interrupted mid-rant.

"What is it Mr. Richards?" he snaps.

"Sorry, sir, but Spencer has just radioed in. The van has come to a stop near the Israeli Embassy."

As soon as he's finished, Malone's tone changes from sharp to interested.

"Really? Tell Spencer to stay there for the moment, and let us know of any pertinent activities."

"Yes, sir." Richards leaves the room hurriedly, and I can almost see the relief on his face as he closes the door.

"You're going to get the disk back." Malone states bluntly. "Tonight. About the only thing we have working in our favour is the fact that the disks are encrypted. I'm pretty certain our friends at the Embassy are going to know that, so they have probably made plans to break the code. Nevertheless, it gives us a chance to get the information back before they can do any damage."

"Yes, sir," we all chorus.

"Miss Backus, go and assist Richards. Find out everything you can about the Embassy building. Possible points of entry, that sort of thing."

She nods and leaves the room, and I make to follow her, determined to do a better job on this mission than I did on the last one.

"Err...not so fast, Mr. Keel."

I stop before I've barely taken a step.

"I'd like a word with you and Mr. Curtis."

I step back in line next to Sam, and the tension in the room practically doubles as we both take pains not to look at each other. I think we've both been waiting for this.

Malone leans forward in his chair and presses his fingers together in front of him thoughtfully.

"I didn't get involved in whatever's going on between the two of you because I thought you were mature enough to sort things out yourselves. Obviously I was wrong. But it's started to affect your work, so I'm giving you fair warning. Whatever the problem is, fix it. Now."

His voice is quiet and controlled, but there's no disguising the irritation behind his words.

"This organisation does not have the manpower spare to carry you when you're too wrapped up in personal issues to carry on with the job at hand. And if things do not improve rapidly in the next forty-eight hours you will be split up and re-teamed."

Neither of us speak - I don't know about Sam, but I'm still reeling from his final threat. Never did I think this would go quite so far, though I suppose the warning signs have been there for a while. But our silence only seems to annoy Malone further, and he rises from behind his desk like a spectre.

"Do I make myself clear, gentleman?"

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Keel?"

"Crystal, sir."

He nods towards the door, dismissing us, and we both start to leave the room. But at the last minute, just as I'm about to go through the doorframe, he speaks.

"The two of you will be going in alone. I don't care what you have to do in order to retrieve the disk intact, just do it. And gentleman, as far as CI5 is concerned, that disk was never stolen. This is an Operation Susie - bring the disk back here, but if anything goes wrong, you're on your own."

"Yes, sir." Sam says dryly before closing the door.

Once out of earshot, he mutters to me: "The Secretary will disavow all knowledge of your actions. What does he think this is, an episode of Mission: Impossible or something?"

There's no excuse for it, but his sarcastic humour annoys me. Does he mimic me like that when I'm not around? "He's doing his job, Curtis. Just like we should be."

Sam stops short and puts his hand on my arm. "That's enough, Keel."

"What?"

"This attitude you've developed lately - I've had enough. For God's sake stop behaving like a spoilt child," He hisses.

"Me? Oh, get lost, Sam."

I shrug him off of me, and move to walk away, but he pulls me back. "No! I am sick to death of these bloody snide comments. If you've got something to say, then say it to my face. Stop whining at me when you think I don't notice."

My temper is starting to flare up, but I try to control it. "That's rich, coming from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam's voice is starting to rise as he gets angrier. I try half-heartedly to defuse the situation, even though I know it's too late.

"Nothing. Just drop it, Sam."

"What's the matter, don't you want to do this in public?" A few people around us are starting to glance up as our voices rise.

"Something like that."

"Well it's going to get pretty bloody public soon enough unless you tell me what's going on. Didn't you hear what Malone said? He's going to re-team us unless you stop acting like a spoilt brat and tell me what the bloody hell is going on!"

"Me? I'm not the one who..." I break off suddenly, not even sure what I was about to say. Was I really going to confront Sam in the middle of the Ops Room? Surely I still owe him enough to do this in private.

"The one who what? Well? Come on, Chris. What is it you've been dying to tell me these past few days?" Sam is yelling now, and everyone else is starting to notice, glancing nervously up from their consoles. "What the hell am I supposed to have done?"

"You really don't have a clue, do you?" I shout back, matching his tone of voice with mine.

Before Sam can answer, Malone appears at the door to his office, looking less than amused. "Would you two gentleman mind explaining to me why you feel it necessary to have yet another stand up row in the middle of this office?"

I stand silently for a second, but even after everything that's happened, I don't want Malone involved in this. For better or worse, Sam and I are going to have to sort this out ourselves. With an angry sigh I spin round and storm out of the room, brushing past Richards without a word. At least he's not carrying coffee. I can feel Sam's gaze on my back as I walk away, and then soft footsteps following me on the carpeted floor. Even when angry Sam walks quietly, like a cat.

I debate trying to lose him as I head for the car park, but the footsteps stay close behind and I quickly give up. Sam seems to want to have this out now, and I'm quite happy to oblige. I've had enough of this. I change direction and head for the gym. At least there we can be fairly certain of not being disturbed.

Reaching the gym, I slam the door open with one hand, hearing it crash back against the wall with a perverse sense of satisfaction.

I move into the centre of the room and wait for Sam. It doesn't take long before he appears in the doorway, and I find myself tensing up as if preparing for a fight.

I don't want to fight Sam.

Do I?

We face each other without speaking for a while, until finally he breaks the silence.

"Well?" The voice is quieter, and Sam has obviously got his anger back under firm control once again, but from the tight clench of his jaw, I know that it's still there.

"Richmond." I spit the word back at him.

"What?" Sam looks genuinely confused. I guess he's been expecting more than a one word answer after all this.

"Get a nice sleep that night, did you?"

He frowns, and then it's as if a light bulb has appeared above his head, and comprehension dawns.

"Oh, for God's sake," he mutters. "That's what this has all been about?"

His voice drips with scorn, as if he can't believe I've got so angry over something so trivial. The hurt sets in again, so I defend myself the only way I know how - sarcasm.

"Oh, hell, don't worry about it, Sam. I'm sure you found yourself a nice blonde to pass the time with."

His eyes turn ice grey, and as he steps closer I can see the anger building in him.

"Chris..." his voice is cold. I've heard him use it on criminals plenty of times in the past, and I know what it means. I've had plenty of warning, and I know I should shut up, but I don't.

"It's a shame Hall killed that blonde hooker, isn't it."

"That's enough, Keel."

"...I'm sure she'd have been interested in you, as long as you could pay enough."

He stares at me, quite obviously speechless, but this has been building up inside me for far too long, and there's no chance of stopping it now.

"You know, Sam - all this time I thought we were friends, I ignored what the others said about you. I guess they were right. You're cold, Curtis. Nothing but a self-centred, arrogant son of a bitch..."

Sam loses his temper, and two seconds later I find myself sprawled on the floor of the gym, spitting blood from my mouth as Sam stands over me flexing his hand, breathing heavily.

"Have you quite finished, Keel?"

I stay quiet, staring angrily up at him instead as the world stops spinning. Though I'm not actually sure I could speak if I tried.

"You stupid, selfish bastard." Huh? Quite what moral high ground Sam thinks he is coming from is beyond me, but I keep quiet. It's probably safer.

"You want to talk about Richmond? Fine. Let's talk about it. Let's talk about how much of a bloody idiot you were, shall we? What the hell did you think you were doing wandering off down the back alleys in the dark, huh? You know you should have stayed by the shelter, so we knew where to find you..."

"Oh, so I deserved everything I got, did I?" I interrupt angrily.

"Don't be stupid, that isn't what I meant."

"But it is what you said."

"Don't you dare go putting words into my mouth, Chris, you've made one assumption too many already. How on earth did you expect us to know where to look for you when you hadn't stayed where you were supposed to? Would it really have been too much trouble to find somewhere quiet and call us? Let us know where you were going?"

Part of me knows that Sam is right. I did make a mistake in heading into Richmond's maze of backstreets, but there is no way I'm going to admit it, not after what he's done.

"Wasn't much point, was there? You wouldn't have done anything. Too busy getting your beauty sleep," I mutter sullenly. I can feel my lip starting to swell.

Sam watches me for a few seconds before answering.

"Prat."

With that one word Sam seems to lose all of his energy, and drops down to the mat beside me, staring down at his shoes. "You have no idea how worried we all were about you. After we found your broken mobile on the ground, all I could think about was what might be happening, that I might be too late. I kept expecting to hear that the police had found your body the way they'd found the blonde's. You scared me, Chris."

He sounds tired, and somehow, his quiet voice has more of an impact than his anger. I start talking. "I thought we were friends, Sam. Or more than colleagues, at least."

Sam looks puzzled. "Of course we are."

"Then why didn't you keep looking for me? You didn't seem to give a shit whether I made it or not."

"Don't be ridiculous." He snaps, then closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Of course I did, Chris."

"What?"

"I searched for you all night."

Oh, shit.

My mind is whirling, and all I can manage to say is a quiet "I'm listening."

"Malone told us to go and get some rest, to trust you to take care of yourself..."

~*~ *~

 **Richmond, Virginia  
Sam**

"...and I have every faith in the resourcefulness of Mr. Keel. Why don't you go get some rest?"

With that he dismisses us both. I think about arguing some more, trying to change his mind, but Malone suddenly sounds exhausted, and I know it would just be a waste of time. Time Chris doesn't have.

I turn round, forcing myself to say nothing as I walk away with Backup. Neither of us speaks until we've left the warehouse, stepping out into the darkness. Then she places her hand on my arm to stop me from walking away.

"What now?"

I stay silent for a moment, weighing up my options. As much as I trust Backup, I don't know that I can trust her not to tell Malone what I'm about to do, so I simply shrug.

"Back to the hotel, I guess." It's not difficult to get the right amount of defeat into my voice, since it's there anyway. I know damn well that the chances of actually finding Chris in the middle of a strange city at gone midnight are low. Jesus, I'd probably be more likely to come across Elvis tap-dancing in a strip club. Even so, I know without doubt that I'm going to search anyway, I knew it before we even went to Malone with the broken mobile.

I didn't argue with Malone simply because I knew it would do no good, but this isn't the first time that I've disobeyed his orders, and I'm pretty certain that it won't be the last.

I head back to the motel with Backup, and walk her to her door, wishing her good night before heading in the direction of my room. Of course, as soon as I've turned the corner out of sight I'm doubling back round the other staircase and out of the front door, intent on finding Chris whatever it takes.

As I pull out of the car park, I'm painfully aware that I haven't got the slightest idea where to look...

~*~ *~

"You've no idea what I went through that night, Chris. I thought you were dead. Every minute I spent searching for you I was waiting for the phone call that would tell me your body had been found."

His voice breaks, and I can hear the exhaustion in it. The last week has been hard on both of us, and I'm finally seeing what I should have known all along. Sam does care, we are friends, but I was too busy trying to build up crumbling defences to really pay attention to what my common sense was telling me. And now look where it's got us. If Malone keeps us together after this it'll be a miracle.

Sam takes a deep breath and starts to speak again, and I give him all my attention. After acting like a complete asshole for the last week, it's the least I can do.

"I searched until 6am, but no-one recognised your picture, and I didn't find anything. Eventually I went back to the motel room in time to change, so Malone wouldn't know I'd disobeyed him."

"That's when you packed the suitcases."

Sam nods. "I tried to get my head down for a couple of hours, but I couldn't sleep. I thought you were dead. I needed to keep myself busy, so I packed up."

Sam looks at me as if he's expecting condemnation for giving up at all, but I'm too busy mentally calling myself every name under the sun. I already knew that I was being childish in the things I've been saying, but having convinced myself that Sam had deserted me, I thought I was justified.

And now?

This is one hell of a mess - how on earth am I supposed to fix it?

I sigh and lean forward, putting my head in my hands, but careful to avoid my jaw, which is already swelling up. Sam packs one hell of a punch, something I never thought I'd be on the receiving end of.

Sitting cross-legged next to me, Sam simply watches me, probably unsure what to say. So I decide to say it for him - after I've behaved like such an idiot, surely there's only one thing he's going to want to do.

"If you want to find yourself a new partner, I won't stand in the way."

Sam looks stunned. "What?"

"A new partner."

"Why the hell would I want to do that?"

"Well...after...after the way I've been acting..."

Sam shakes his head. "No. I've spent too much time training you up to have to go through all that again."

Part of me tenses up, interpreting his words with the snide condescension that I've come to expect from Sam lately. But now I know the truth, that little voice inside me that doubts my own abilities is a little easier to ignore, and I simply manage a small grin.

"Chris, what made you think that I'd just left you on your own in Richmond?"

"What Malone said on the plane...I just thought that..." I trail off, it seems such a ridiculous thing to get worked up about now.

Sam groans. "I knew you'd heard that. But I couldn't have said anything then, could I? 'Oh, sorry sir, but I actually disobeyed your direct orders and wandered aimlessly around the city for half the night?' I can just imagine his reaction to that one."

I chuckle. Now that would have been something to see.

Sam's voice turns serious again. "After you were sent on sick leave I just forgot all about it. Sorry, Chris - I should have said something."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, Sam. I'm the one who has been..."

But Sam interrupts before I can finish. "We could sit here berating ourselves till the world ends, Chris, but if we want Malone to even consider keeping us together as a team, I think we'd better go and get the disk back. We can thrash this out once and for all later, yes?"

I nod and he stands up, holding out a hand and hauling me up off the floor.

We both walk over to the doors, but Sam stops just before we get to them. He looks at me, apparently deadly serious, but there's a twinkle in his eyes that I quickly recognise.

"Time to save the world again, Mr. Keel," he deadpans.

"Oh, after you, Mr. Curtis. I insist."

Laughing, I follow Sam out of the room, and we head back up to Ops.

When we walk into the main room, at least half the people in it glance up at us nervously, obviously expecting yet another slanging match. Backup, on the other hand, takes one look at us, smiles, and calls us over. I swear that woman knows us better than we know each other.

"Sorted things out yet?"

I nod, but her eyes narrow when she looks at me up close. "Your jaw's swelling up, Chris," she states flatly, her eyes flicking between me and Sam.

"Courtesy of our friends earlier tonight."

She raises her eyebrows. "Right," she says dryly, before turning her attention back to matters at hand.

"The beauty of Embassy buildings is that they're classed as foreign soil, which means that exact plans of all relevant buildings have to be filed and verified with the Foreign Office." She spreads out a set of floor plans on the desk in front of her.

"Let me guess, Richards knows a way to gain access to their records?"

She grins. "Sort of. This is what you're looking at." She gestures to the plans in front of her. "When you've got the disks, get out of the building and call me on my mobile. Malone's orders - don't call HQ - officially you can't have anything more to do with CI5 until the disks are back where they belong. Once you're clear, call me, and we'll arrange a rendezvous."

~*~ *~

 **Chris**

It's perfectly obvious from the word go that things are much better between us - the partnership is back on track, and the raid on the Embassy Building goes smoothly. We break in without setting off the alarms, we avoid the guards, and things are starting to look like a walk in the park. But then, that's what we thought about Africa as well.

It's almost funny: when we reach the room where we think the disks are being stored, the place is empty. At the very least we were expecting a guard, or someone working on the encryption code. I glance over at Sam and whisper: "I don't like this."

"Me either." He mutters back. "Let's just get the disks and get out of here."

Not only had Spencer been watching the place until we got there, he'd also had Richards tap into their phones, and we'd been lucky enough to intercept the conversation where the location of the disks were discussed. Ridiculously careless on their part, but then everyone in the Embassy has diplomatic immunity, so they really don't have much to be afraid of.

Except us.

The room shows every sign of being occupied - papers strewn everywhere, the computers are still on, and there's even a lukewarm cup of coffee on the desk by the screen. Whoever left the room isn't going to be away for long, that much is obvious, so we don't have much time.

The computer is working away, and long lists of random numbers and letters are scrolling their way down the screen.

"Chris, the disks are in the computer." Stopping the programme, I pull the disk out, but it's pretty obvious what's happened. The disk in my hand is not the original.

"They made a copy. The safe, Sam."

Sam nods and starts work on cracking the lock while I place the CD in my rucksack and place another one in the computer. A present from Backup, a particularly nasty little virus which should wipe out all traces of the code - and pretty much everything else - from the hard drive of this computer and everything else connected to it.

Footsteps sound in the corridor outside, and Sam moves silently out of view of the door.

The door pushes open slowly, and even as the dark skinned man comes into the room, I'm moving from my hiding place. He notices the computer has stopped working at the same time he sees Sam, but a hand over his mouth stops him from calling out, and I drag him back behind the door as Sam goes back to work on the safe.

Seconds later we're done, and I knock the man out quickly as Sam places the disks in his rucksack.

"Let's get out of here," he whispers, and we head quickly back out the way we came. The alarm is going to be raised as soon as that guy wakes up, or someone notices that the computers are all breaking down, so we've got no time to lose.

Unfortunately, our time is even shorter than we'd hoped.

We're spotted moving across the grounds outside in almost the same instant that the alarms go off, and as gunfire starts ricocheting around us, we break into a run, aware of our pursuers only seconds behind.

It's gone midnight, but in the heart of London that doesn't mean much, and Sam pulls me across the road, dodging between the traffic as three guards from the Embassy leave their building and come after us.

The gunfire has stopped, thankfully, since neither side wants a public firefight. But the chase is still on, and on seeing the subway entrance to London Bridge tube station a few hundred yards down the road, we both run towards it.

"If we can get on a tube before they reach us we'll be home free - they won't know which station we've got off from." Sam gasps between breaths.

We clatter down the stairs, avoiding the usual throng of young clubbers on their way back from a night out and enter the underground station, running between red brick pillars and archways as we head for the nearest platform.

Which is where we hit a problem.

There is a crowd of people milling around the barriers to the platforms, and at least three guards holding them back and trying to make themselves heard above the chatter.

"...for the inconvenience ladies and gentlemen, but the platforms are overcrowded. If we can just ask you to wait patiently until the next train leaves then you'll be allowed through."

"Overcrowding? It's gone bloody midnight!"

Sam and I both stop, but we can hear the native tongue of our pursuers echoing from further down the station, heading this way.

"What now?" Sam looks frantically around us, but there's no other exit marked. Until I see a small door concealed in an alcove about ten feet behind us.

"Sam!" I pull him over to the door. It's locked, and the sign on the door says 'Maintenance Crew Access Only', but it's about the only thing I can think of.

Sam nods, and on three we kick out at the door. The lock shatters and the door smashes back into the wall, revealing a low, dark tunnel stretching out in front of us.

There are shouts from behind us as the three Israelis see us.

We run.

They follow.

~*~ *~

It's like something out of a fucking movie.

Sam and I are keeping up a running gun battle with the three guys chasing us, but we're rapidly running out of ammunition, and these guys don't seem to want to stop.

The disused underground tunnels are cold, and damp, with bits of rubble and fallen masonry strewn all over the place. They've have been abandoned for years, and thanks to the neglect they're slowly falling apart. Every few minutes a low rumbling noise can be heard even above the gunfire as a train goes through one of the underground tunnels that are still in use, and the dust rises again, making it even harder to see in the darkness. Every so often a piece of brick is dislodged by the vibrations. This is definitely not the safest place to be.

Back when we were planning this, we both considered wearing protective vests in case of something like this, but they're so damn heavy we knew they'd only get in the way back at the Embassy.

I'm thinking this might have been a bad decision. The bullets are landing all around us as we dart from one meagre cover to another, sparks flying as they hit the walls and various metal pipes around us, but so far neither of us have been hit.

On the plus side, one of theirs went down about three hundred yards back, which made the odds a little more even, at least.

I really don't want to be running, and would rather take these bastards down once and for all, but I don't have much of a choice. The disk that we came for is safely hidden in Sam's rucksack, and whatever happens, we can't let them get it back. Malone took great pains to drum that into us. But quite apart from anything else, a hand to hand fight wouldn't be particularly safe.

Since they're all embassy personnel with perfectly 'respectable' jobs, both of the men chasing us have diplomatic immunity, and so has absolutely nothing to worry about should they decide to just shoot us. No-one could ever lay anything on them.

Not that people don't try and shoot us on an almost daily basis anyway, but this is different, somehow. Most people we go up against have something to lose in actually killing a member of CI5, and at the very least, fear further investigation if they do anything too permanent. If we die down here, Malone couldn't do a damned thing.

Assuming he wanted to.

Of course, that does work both ways. Up to a point. Since they stole the disk in the first place, should we shoot one of them, their embassy can hardly go complaining to the authorities that CI5 agents killed people while stealing back something that was already stolen.

Which means that none of us particularly give a shit about whether any of our enemies die or not.

Believe me, all that 'professional courtesy' crap you hear about in the James Bond films is exactly that - bullshit.

And I should know, since I've got an ex-MI6 member running alongside me right now.

Speaking of Sam, he ducks out of cover and fires back down the tunnels as he dashes over to where I'm concealed.

"How are you doing for ammunition?" he asks between gasps as he tries to catch his breath.

"Not good. This is the last clip." I gesture to it as I quickly pull out the empty magazine and push the next one in. "You?"

"Two. We're not going to get anywhere like this, Chris. We're going to have to go hand to hand."

I nod my agreement.

The firing dies down as our enemies take cover as well, and for a second there's a bizarre stalemate, as each side waits to see what the other will do.

Sam shrugs out of his rucksack quickly, and hides it under the rubble we're huddled behind. Since it's black, it almost vanishes within the debris.

"At least if something happens to us they might not find it," he mutters. Then he hands me his torch. This place is so dark, we've had to use torchlight to pick our way through the debris, but it's also how they've been able to track us this far.

I flick the beam of the torch down into the tunnel ahead of us for a second, and see that it widens out a little bit about a hundred metres ahead.

The extra space will help, and Sam agrees with me. Taking both torches, I fire my last clip down at our pursuers as I run into the clearing. If they see two beams of light heading in that direction, hopefully they'll think that we've both made a run for it, and Sam can ambush them from behind.

The cover fire I lay down again doesn't hit anyone, but at least stops them from firing back until I'm in a more defensible position.

Just as I reach the clearing - if you can call it that - the gun barrel clicks on an empty chamber.

Damn.

Here goes nothing.

I can hear someone moving towards me, and although they're still a fair distance away, I know damn well it's not Sam. They're both making too much bloody noise for that. Whatever he's doing, whether it's wandering between monitors in headquarters or stalking would-be murderers in an abandoned underground tunnel, he's always deathly silent. Even though I'm used to it, I still only just manage to hear him moving around, and in comparison to him, these two are blundering along like elephants. But since they've still got guns and I don't, I can't afford to underestimate them too much.

Flattening myself against the wall, I wait until they're almost level with me. With the torches switched off I pretty much blend in with our surroundings, and since I'm not moving, I know I have an advantage. Still, they're good. Even if they don't know exactly where I am, neither of them ever actually presents their back to me.

They do, however, give Sam all the opening he needs, and he jumps the one furthest away from me. Though it's too dark to see exactly what he's doing, his appearance causes the second man to jump and turn round, distracting him.

Now it's my turn.

Sneaking up behind him, he's only just realised that I'm there when I club him over the back of the head with my empty gun. Well, it might as well be useful for something. He grabs hold of my free hand as he falls, and off-balance, I fall with him. Well aware that he still has a loaded gun, I grapple with him until I manage to get hold of both wrists, and finding the one holding the Beretta, we both struggle for possession.

He's strong, I'll give him that, and for a few seconds I'm not sure that I can hold him down. His hand is clamped down round the trigger, and I know I won't be able to get the gun away from him without leaving myself vulnerable while I'm doing it. So I do the next best thing, and wrap my hand over his, forcing the gun above us and up into the ceiling before pulling the trigger. Six shots later, and his gun is as empty as mine.

He kicks out from beneath me, and manages to throw me off and to the side. I keep rolling away to avoid any more kicks, and climb quickly to my feet as he does the same. We circle each other for a full minute, trying to gauge each other's weaknesses even though we can barely see. He lashes out with one arm and I block it, grabbing hold of his arm and kicking out into his stomach.

He cries out and staggers back, and I follow through with a punch to the face as he's still back-pedalling.

In the back of my mind I register that I can hear another scuffle somewhere to the left of me, and acknowledge that Sam is still fighting his opponent, though I haven't heard any other guns go off.

My assailant falls to the side as I hit him again, but instead of going down like I think he's going to, he drops down into a crouch and swings round, using his legs to knock me off my feet, and I fall with a grunt. He's on top of me almost as soon as I've hit the ground, and manages to land a few good - and painful - punches before I can pull him closer, wrapping myself around him to stop him from being able to lash out again.

We scuffle on the ground before I can push him off, but as we both climb wearily to our feet again I hear a metallic clicking noise.

A flick-knife.

Oh, shit.

I back up, trying to work out which hand the knife is in. I sense rather than see him coming closer, and kick out, but he twists aside just in time and I don't manage any more than a glancing blow.

A punch to the stomach has me doubling over in pain, and as I'm trying to straighten up he steps in closer still. I see a glint of metal in his right hand at the last minute, and desperately try to get out the way, putting my arm in the way as protection.

But I'm too late.

The knife goes through the sleeve of my jumper, taking a fair amount of skin with it, but doesn't stop there.

Metal buries itself into my side, and I cry out as the pain descends.

I stay on my feet, just, and for a second I meet the eyes of the man in front of me. I see the pure hatred staring back at me, and then there's a gunshot.

Something heavy slams into me, and I fall.

My attacker falls as well, landing on top of me, but he's still holding the knife buried into my side, and his weight sends the blade in even deeper than before.

The gunshot echoes round the tunnel walls, but after that there is silence, and a darkness appears at the edge of my vision that has nothing to do with the tunnels.

"Chris?"

After the deafening noise of the gunshots, Sam's voice sounds quiet, and a long way away. Or is that just me?

The pain spreads quickly, and its intensity takes my breath away. All I manage is a dull moan.

I hear footsteps, and then everything fades out.

The pain is still there, though, so I know I'm still conscious. But only just. Part of me wants to slip away, at least then it wouldn't hurt any more, but I need to know that Sam is okay first.

Not that I'm going to be any use at all if he's not.

Torchlight washes over me, and I turn my head away weakly and close my eyes. It's too bright.

"Chris!"

The weight of the man on top of me increases unbearably for just a second before it goes away completely as Sam shoves him off me. I moan again as the movement dislodges the knife, which clatters to the ground next to me.

It's only when I look up that I realise the man with the knife was dead. He must have taken that last bullet.

Sam is kneeling down next to me, and as I try to sit up the pain doubles and the world tilts. The torch plays over me before being discarded on the floor as Sam sees the knife wound.

"Oh, shit."

"Yeah." I mutter quietly.

He gently pushes me back down flat, gesturing me to stay still as he picks up the knife and leans over me. Slicing through my jumper, he tries to pull away the black material to see how bad the wound is, but blood has already soaked through it, and I gasp at even that slight movement.

"Sorry." He winces in sympathy.

He disappears out of my field of vision for a second, and there is no way I'm going to move to see what he's doing. He comes back with the rucksack, which he paws through before pulling out his mobile phone.

Picking up the torch, he stares at the screen for a minute before throwing the phone back into the rucksack.

"Typical," he snarls.

"What?" I whisper. It's getting harder to focus on his face.

"There's no bloody signal."

Oh.

He awkwardly cuts some material from his jumper, before folding it over a couple of times and pressing it hard against my side, bringing my right hand across to hold it tightly in place. It hurts. Then he puts the rucksack back on his shoulders.

A strangled curse escapes my lips, even though I try to stop it.

"We're going to have to get out of here, Chris."

"I know."

"You need help, but no-one knows we're down here."

I don't say anything, but start to struggle to sit up. Sam puts a hand underneath my back to support me, and we slowly make it to our feet. Almost as soon as I'm upright I start to double over again, but Sam stops me from falling, pulling my left arm round his neck and holding on to my waist. I lean heavily against him and fight to bring my breathing back under control. Now that we're standing, I can see that the man Sam fought is sprawled in a corner.

Sam had broken his neck.

"Now why...didn't I think of...that." I mutter, and Sam glances over at the body.

"He was in my way," he says simply, and when I don't reply, he carries on. "There has to be a way out of here, some way for the work crews to get in and out. All we have to do is find one and get back to the surface."

"No problem."

Sam pulls me a little bit closer, forcing me to lean even more of my weight on him in an attempt to make it easier for me to walk.

It doesn't help much, but we start walking down the tunnel, leaving the two bodies where they are.

Each step sends pain screaming through my body, and my vision wavers dangerously.

Blood is already seeping through the extra material and in between my fingers.

~*~ *~

We've been walking for at least twenty minutes I guess before we stop. Sam leans me against a wall for support as he moves away to check on something, but it's not enough, and I slide down the wall in what feels like slow motion, finally coming to a rest sitting on the ground with my knees bent.

I can feel myself shaking - I didn't think the knife wound was this bad, but obviously my body has other ideas. The fire that had been spreading through my side and making each step a battle finally eases, and for a moment I think I'm going to be okay.

Then I realise that the fire is being replaced by a numb feeling that's creeping through my body. The logical part of my mind, the bit that's not occupied in trying to control the pain and stay conscious, recognises the symptoms of shock. This is not good. I lean my head back against the damp stone, relishing the cold, even though it's not much. I'm just about out of energy now, that final run through the tunnels had taken whatever I had left.

My eyes droop closed. I try to keep them open, to wait for Sam like I promised, but I don't seem to have any control any more. With one arm curled around my waist, and too much blood soaking through my clothes I slide sideways, and the silence and darkness of the tunnels becomes even darker, and much quieter.

The silence is broken by a strange noise, and I muster enough awareness together to realise that I haven't hit the floor yet. Something is holding me at least semi-upright. The noise is still there, but I can't work out what it is. I'm too tired.

Something hits me - not too hard, though - on the side of my face, and the resulting pain is just enough to pull me to the edge of the stupor that's enveloping me. I still don't open my eyes, but I moan, quietly, and the noise sharpens until I can work out what it is.

It's Sam.

"Chris! Come on, Chris, stay with me."

I've heard that phrase before, as well as the panic I can hear in his voice. He slaps me again, and I just about manage to open my eyes. His face swims in front of my eyes, and I swallow as the nausea comes back to me again.

"Yeah, I'm here." I mutter it, and at first don't think he hears me. After a while he answers.

"Could have fooled me. Sorry mate, but you can't sleep yet."

"Spoilsport." Did I say that out loud? Or just think it? I'm too tired to care. My eyes start to close again, and Sam shakes me with one hand, clicking his other fingers in front of my face, trying to get me to focus on him. It's too hard.

"Dammit." I hear Sam muttering under his breath, I think, and then he speaks again, but louder this time, and I force myself to open my eyes.

"Chris, I'm going to have to...Chris! Can you hear me?"

"Yeah."

"You're going to hate me, but we've got to keep moving."

That's it, Sam. By the book. I can almost hear Malone quoting the First Aid book at us - 'keep them talking, keep them interested', and laugh. I think maybe I'm delusional, but if Malone is the best I can come up with I need serious professional help - and not just for my injuries.

An arm comes round my waist and hauls me to my feet. The pain flares again and I can't help but cry out as the world swims around me.

"Oh, fuck! Careful, Sam."

"Sorry, but we've got to get you to a hospital. I can't do anything to help you here."

We start moving, if I can call the pathetic steps we take movement. But I just can't seem to find the energy to go any faster. If I'm honest, the only reason I'm moving at all is because Sam is moving, and he's holding on to me. I know that if he lets go I'll fall, and probably won't get up again.

"Malone's gonna be...pissed." I mutter.

"So what else is new?"

I don't answer, closing my eyes instead as another wave of dizziness hits me.

"So what have we done wrong this time?" Sam prompts me.

"Not you. Me. As always."

"Chris..."

"It's true. I'm the one who makes all the mistakes."

"That's crap. You're as good as anyone else in CI5."

"I wish. You're always pulling me out of trouble. I've never done the same for you - you've never needed me to. You're...you're a better agent than I am."

"Louisiana."

"What?"

"Louisiana. You remember finding those people dead in the cabin?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"You saw those two army guys coming, I didn't. If it wasn't for you I'd have been shot."

"That's thin, Sam."

"Hey, go easy on me. I'm a bit busy at the moment."

"And I'm lying around getting a suntan? Look, whatever - this time it's definitely my fault."

"How?"

"Getting so angry about what happened in Richmond. If I'd spoken to you instead of brooding we wouldn't have screwed up in the first place, and then we wouldn't be here, either."

"Shoulda, woulda, coulda, Chris."

"What?"

"Isn't that an American expression?"

"Vaguely, I think." I can't help laughing at the thought of the refined Sam Curtis using such a bizarre colloquialism.

"Whatever. The point is, Chris, 'if only' doesn't change anything. So what if you've screwed up once or twice?" I go to interrupt, but he just talks over me. "And it is only once or twice Chris. Jesus, I made so many mistakes when I first joined MI6 I thought I was going to get fired if I wasn't killed first. The important thing, is that we get back to Malone, give him what we came for, and get you to a hospital."

"In that order?"

"No." His tone is sharp, suddenly, and I know he's worried. I can feel myself leaning more heavily on him with almost every step, and my vision is getting darker. Not that I can really tell, considering we're walking in almost pitch darkness. But I do know that I'm not going to be walking all that much longer.

"How much further?"

"We've just got to get up out of the tunnels. As soon as we do that I can get a signal, and we can call for an ambulance."

Normally I'd have snapped that I sure as hell don't need one of those things, but I don't even bother to try. Apart from the fact that it'd make no difference, I'd be getting one anyway, I know that I need a hospital. Soon.

"All the damn technology of CI5, and we can't even get a phone signal."

"Put it in the report." I mutter, and Sam laughs.

"Malone would love that."

We keep walking, Sam pulling me closer to him as it gets harder for me to keep upright.

"I'll be carrying you in a minute," Sam mutters, and as I'm sure he expected, I straighten up slightly and try to walk faster.

"Not likely. You'll only ever do it once."

Sam smiles, and then steers me over to the side of the tunnel.

"You going to be able to manage the stairs, then?"

"What stairs?"

I look up, and see the door that's right in front of us. Pulling his gun awkwardly from his belt, Sam shoots out the lock whilst still trying to hold me upright, apparently not willing to let go of me again in case I pass out.

The lock yields under the bullet's onslaught, and light pours in from the other side as Sam pushes the door open. We're obviously not as far underground as Sam thought, since there are only half a dozen stairs in front of us, and thankfully no door at the other end.

I ignore everything else, trying to concentrate simply on getting up the stairs, since every time I lift my left leg it sends pain screaming through my side.

Sam keeps pace with me, moving just fast enough to make sure I don't stop altogether, but not so fast as to aggravate my injury.

As we move out into the bright lights of what must be another tube station people are already staring, though I suppose the sight of two men streaked with dirt and one dripping blood everywhere he goes is enough to attract anyone's attention.

At first I think that Sam is going to stop now that we've reached the subway again, but he doesn't.

"Why aren't we stopping, Sam?" I ask through clenched teeth.

"You can't get a signal in the Underground, we're going to have to get to the surface."

But we don't. A man dressed in the regulation orange jacket of the London Underground bustles up to us, holding a radio in one hand and looking a mixture of puzzled and annoyed.

"What's going on?" he begins. "No unauthorised personnel are allowed down in the maintenance..." he trails off as he gets a proper look at us, and at the gun that Sam is still holding in his hand. There are other people behind him, watching, and keeping a discreet distance.

"Does that radio work?" Sam snaps brusquely.

"Of course, but..."

"Then call us an ambulance." Sam talks over the other man, who still looks uncertain, but does as he's told. When he also asks for the Police, Sam interrupts again.

"We are the police. CI5."

The man's eyes widen but Sam takes no notice, instead helping me over to a wall where he lowers me to the floor.

"You still with me?" he asks, the concern back in his voice.

"Yeah." I mutter unconvincingly, since I'm not sure myself.

Sam manages a smile, before standing up and addressing the confused guard.

"Is that ambulance on its way?" The strict professionalism is back in his voice, and the guard practically snaps to attention in response.

"Yes."

"Good. Now, is there a phone nearby?"

"It's down the other end of the platform..."

The guard's voice fades out as I finally allow myself to drift away.

~*~ *~

 **Sam**

"...if you'd like to come with me?"

I glance nervously back at Chris. I ought to get to the phone to call Backup, but I'm worried about leaving him here alone. I'm not that surprised when I see that he's passed out - frankly I'm amazed that he made it this far.

"Shit. Never mind - the phone can wait."

I go over to Chris' side again and kneel down next to him, calling his name, but he doesn't respond. I put a hand on his shoulder, and the shivering I can feel under my fingers scares me.

Come on, Chris. Stay with me.

~*~ *~

 **Chris**

Things went quiet for a while, but now I can hear a lot of bustle in the distance, and when I feel people touching me, moving me, it's enough to allow me to open my eyes again.

I'm sure that I'm lying down, but I'm moving. It takes a while before I can puzzle that one out, but I finally come to enough to realise that I must be on a stretcher.

Just to make sure, I force my eyes open. Everything's blurred, but I can just about make out two faces above me - both strangers.

Sam? Where's Sam?

Panic seizes me for a second when I can't see him, and I try to call out for him. It comes out as an incoherent jumble, and when he doesn't instantly appear I call out again.

Please don't let him have abandoned me this time.

A hand takes mine and Sam's face comes into view, in spite of one of the strangers asking him to keep back out of the way.

I relax as he smiles down at me, though even in this state I can see that it's a weak smile. He's worried about me.

I knew he would be. But even the second of doubt is enough to remind me of everything that's happened, and I'm ashamed.

Of course Sam was going to be here. We're partners - and I can, and do, trust him with my life.

Just as he can trust me with his.

Things are started to drift out of their hazy focus again, but I struggle to stay awake long enough to tell Sam that I trust him.

After the last few weeks, he needs to know.

~*~ *~

 **Sam**

The ambulance takes what seems like forever to arrive, but when it finally gets here I'm pushed out of the way with a brisk professionalism that I find both strangely comforting and worrying at the same time.

Chris still hadn't come round by the time they loaded him onto a stretcher and in the back of the ambulance. He's so bloody pale, and even though the paramedics are telling me he'll be fine, my hands are still shaking.

I climb in the ambulance alongside him, leaving the guard - I think his name was Dennis - bleating about who was going to pay for the damage to the doors.

With the state Chris is in, as if I care.

I watch the paramedics intently, trying to work out exactly what they're doing, so I can work out whether it's good or bad.

As the engine starts and we drive away, Chris' eyes open, and he mutters something, but I can't work out what it is.

He looks scared, and I go to move closer to him even as he speaks again.

"S...Sam?"

I take his hand, ignoring the protests of the paramedics.

"I'm here Chris."

He looks up at me, and I can feel him relax. He smiles.

"Knew...you would...be." He manages to whisper, though I can see his eyes glaze over as he passes out again.

But those four words, and the trust inherent in them, are enough to make me relax. Chris is going to be fine, because we're partners, and together we can get through anything - including the recent misunderstandings.

We still have a lot to talk about, I'm not naïve enough to think that everything's been fixed, but the fact that Chris already trusts me again will make the discussion easier, and the understanding quicker.

We're a team, and nothing is going to change that.

I watch him sleep for a few minutes, but finally pull myself together long enough to reach for my mobile and call Backup. Might as well give her what we came for.

She answers on the first ring.

"Tina" - first names only, this is still an Operation Susie.

"It's Sam."

"Sam! Where the hell have you been? The Embassy raised the alarm over an hour ago."

"We have the disk, but you'll have to come and get it - I can't get back to HQ."

"Why not?"

"I'll meet you in St. George's Hospital on the South Bank."

"The Hospital? Why, what's happened."

"Chris was stabbed - I'm in the ambulance with him now."

"Shit - is he going to be alright?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine. Just meet me there, Backup."

"I'm on my way."

I hang up, and as the ambulance pulls into the Hospital drive, turn all of my attention back to Chris.

~*~ *~

 **Chris**

I can hear voices as I wake up, and it's good to know that Sam's close by.

"Chris?"

I open my eyes, and squint at the light in the room.

"Hey." I manage hoarsely.

"How are you feeling?"

"Alright." The pain is still there, but it's duller than it was. Raising my head off the pillow slightly, I see the drip running into the back of my hand as an explanation. "D'you give Backup the disk?"

"Yeah. She's taking it to Malone now."

"Good."

I take my first proper look at Sam as everything slowly comes into focus. He's got stitches above one eye, and bruises pretty much everywhere else - all relics of the fight in the tunnels that I hadn't noticed before. "You look like shit."

"So do you." He grins, then falters slightly as his expression turns serious. I've got a pretty good idea what he's going to say, and decide to pre-empt him. Neither of us are up to that conversation just yet, but there's plenty of time.

"Thanks, Sam."

He grins at me. "No problem, Chris. It's your turn next time."

I nod in agreement and smother a yawn. Sam stands up to leave.

"Get some sleep, Chris - I'll be back later, but I've got to go and report back to Malone."

"Does that mean you get to write the report as well?"

Sam laughs. "Don't I always?"

"You shouldn't neglect a natural talent, Sam."

Still laughing, Sam allows himself to be ushered out of the door by the nurse who's been standing there through our conversation.

I drift off back to sleep, content that everything is as it should be.


End file.
